The Decadence Chronicle. Episode 105: Sobriety

Being single isn’t as glamorous as I thought I would be. It’s 6:12 PM and I’m on the couch, playing with my balls; my jeans unbuttoned and my belt loose. Have just washed a homemade Angus burger with cheddar cheese down my gut. I’m full. Could sleep. Could watch some piece of shit series on Netflix or a few forgettable videos on YouTube. But no. Here I am, fondling my balls and staring at some distant neighbor doing the dishes by her kitchen window. A genuinely responsible adult with grown up responsibilities, doing her shit. What a life. What a motherfucking life. While my balls continue to be grabbed.

I ran into my hot neighbor on Sunday afternoon and it was as awkward as you would expect. She was sober, unlike the time we met by our doorsteps. So, yes, I don’t think the “fucking the girl next door scenario” is gonna happen anytime soon. Or ever. You see? No glamour. No nothing.

I’m lonely. An undertow of desperation is building up in my insides. When is this dry spell going to end? When will I find somebody? Or, is there anybody out there, at all? It feels hopeless. Maybe I should give up and do as many Danes and Norwegians do. Just pack my bags and go to Thailand to buy the unconditional love of a younger woman in need. A pathetic, yet practical business transaction.

There’s still some pride in me, though. I am sober now, for example. Sixteen days and counting. I feel better, actually. My gut is almost not bothering me anymore. And waking up without a hangover is priceless. Or is it? I don’t know. It does take a toll on me. I’m isolated in the confined space of my ugly-ass overpriced studio apartment in Østerbro. Can’t cope with my drinking buddies without alcohol rushing through my veins. Can’t pretend I give a fuck about meaningless bullshit. And can’t seem to shake the fear of -finally- becoming a full-blown alcoholic once I break this self-imposed sobriety period.

I obviously stopped playing with my balls now. Couldn’t write if I didn’t. But, mentally, it’s like I’m still sitting on the couch, joggling with my testicles. Contemplating the boring lives of the people around me. Thinking of the life I chose. Disappointed of the outcome of the decisions I made to just end up… here.

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