D.O.A.

I woke up one morning, over a year ago now, and the morning that I woke upon was one of the first morning's that I awoke to the realisation that I am a free man. No, not free in the political, linguistic or moral sense, but in the sense that the managers at Amour Ltd. had decided to let me go, banning me from gambolling the fields of ardour, barring me from the realms of passion and a tumult of various other clandestine, soporific shit.

Of course I was upset, it's only natural that after the reposession of such a long, wonderful and secure state of well being that someone doesn't feel like getting out of bed sometimes. After a while things got better, as things often do, as even the bible said, "this too shall come to pass", which, I might add, should be used more often in speeches given by best men on wedding days. Life moved on. Things didn't exactly get everso much better, but i became gradually used to the langour of it. It took a lot longer than I hoped it would, but atleast it took.

One of the things that got me so riled, that really pushed my buttons (the ones marked "melt down", not "on") was the idea that one day I would forget how it felt to kiss the person I loved. The idea, already growing a little palid in my memory, was still vibrant, strong and something to relish, even if it did bring a tear to my eye and the thought that one day, no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn't be able to remember the soft brush of their lips and the fervour of the passion behind them terrified me. I suppose that's how I feel right now.

Currently I'm only 22 minutes away from tomorrow and already 38 minutes away from what might have been the last time I see two of my best friends for a very long time indeed. When the digits in the corner of my screen flip over to show "00:00" then it will be the start of the last day I spend with my family before I go to university. I very much doubt that day will be spent lavishing in eachother's company. I very much doubt that I won't fall out with my dad one last time before I go. I'll probably offend my sister once more and my mum will doubtlessly despair with all of us one last time. The thing is I'd rather it happened that way. It's what I know and love and the thought of my family getting along in a time of such astrangement and anguish doesn't seem right.

I'm only going to university, I know. I'll be back next weekend to sleep in my own bed, my dad is even going to drive to pick me up and drop off anything I think I've forgotten but it still doesn't feel wholely okay. It doesn't feel like I'll be coming home, it doesn't feel like everything's going to be alright. I understand now why our friends cried when Ben and Gareth left and why it didn't hurt me so much. I knew I'd see them again. But that was then and this is now and now I realise that maybe our friends didn't cry for selfish reasons, they didn't weep because they were seeing a friend leave them for so long but they were heartbroken through empathy. They didn't cry because they were leaving them, they cried because they were leaving everything they had ever known and I feel wretched for not realising that sooner.

There isn't a brightside to this blog entry, it seems even the very nature of the world is ought to crush my heart tonight. As I walked past the public house at the end of my street I heard the entertainment pouring Queen's "D.O.A." from the depths of his soul straight to my ears. "D.O.A." he sang, "D.O.A. I get so lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely..." So lonely, lonely, lonely.

My story started so unpleasantly for a reason. I didn't talk about forgetting for nothing, because that's what I'm worried about. We're growing up and leaving out childhood behind and those times were important, far too important to ever even consider forgetting about, but I know I will. To know that one day I won't remember what it was like to be 14, 16, even the age I am now really harrows me, chills me, fills me with horrific nostalgic nausea and "I know I deserve worse but it terrifies me and I can't take it anymore".