I’d say that this day was SHIT.
SO fucking shit.
Fucking polemic concert. Am I a middle aged man at a dedinská zábava ?
I was waiting for it to be over (just like bad sex) (does this signal low self esteem ?) and it just did NOT want to fucking end. They kept playing one more song and one more song. My ” friends ” were dancing excitedly. I felt way too sober and bored to.. do anything.
Once it ended, FINALLY, a motherfucking storm came on. A STORM!!! At a festival. They were closing down the tents and evacuating everyone. Talk about a shitty experience. But we stayed, we fucking stayed, hoping for it to be over. Someone got us some shots. One rum and three vodkas. I drank the rum, someone drank the vodka, and we split the other vodka in half. Next thing I know we’re going to a Nicolaus bar and I’m paying for more vodkas.
Next thing I know we’re in a rum bar and I’m holding one rum at first; (downed it, chased with Coca Cola); then downed another (white rum), chased with Red Bull or whatever. Next thing, we’re standing in yet another vodka bar, I downed a vodka shot. My friends said they were leaving. I was okay with it as they weren’t drinking anyways, and my friend said she’d take care of my stuff and I could come to her place afterwards. (REALLY fucking nice btw !!!!!!!) I was excited to stay with my “new”, “wild” friends. (It turned to shit, obvi.)
At first, me and the girl danced for a good half hour in this reggae/DNB tent. We went all in and I was sweating like crazy. Then, we all went somewhere again. The two of them were acting like lovers… And I was the third fucking wheel. Eventually, I got sick of it. I went to pee. I felt like crying. He came there somehow, there they were, he was being weird, guarding her toilet door and giving me some bullshit answers. I even told him I felt like crying. Nothing. No response from him.
Eventually, when she was done, they fucking walked away, holding each other at the waist. (???!!!) I was just standing there, invisible.
The old me would’ve fucking hid under a tree and cried; and probably would have sent some sad / hateful / long messages about how they both hurt me; I would have been sad about it the whole night & would make it mean something about myself.
The current me?
I fucking let them go.
I cruised through the festival crowd to go home. It was pouring rain. I did not pick up his one, pathetic call. I took my own chances.
I still expected him to at least fucking text me some apologetic, worried shit. The kind that says “are you fucking okay, being all alone and lost and DRUNK in this huge fucking festival ?????? Did we do something wrong????? Please come back ??? ”
No such texts have arrived, however. (I have briefly blocked him on messenger – then promptly unblocking him just to leave those fucking desperate messages on ‘read’.)
I’m halfway ‘home’ now (to my friend’s house), hope those two are fucking each other somewhere, and I hope they know they can forget about me. Obviously, this festival night has been a massive, major failure, full of mistakes, but it has revealed who my true friends are after all. I feel sad and sick about it all, but not sad enough to cry, and not sick enough not to crave a massive pizza. I’d call that – progress.
🍕🥃
The Young Adult Diary 