a notice

Being lonely…
For the first time in a long time I was ready to do that… after more than a month in loneliness (I don’t event know how to correctly spell this word) and twice being drunk by myself by finally considered it to be normal. Be alone. Drink alone. Think as if it was all ok. And face it.
And write in another language. As if it was normal.
So… the story. About a girl. In still stage country.
In absolutely changed circumstances I was there. Without any fear to be myself. To experience the feelings I have inside.
I never considered myself as being desperate. I still hope I’m not. But the fact that something changed thrilled me… I was able to catch myself in thinking in another language. In doing things I thought I would never do alone… twice…
So for the second time in my life I opened bottle of wine. Just for myself. And drank it alone. All of it. Just me.
First time it happened more or less a week ago. It was strange. Pathetic in some respect. But this time it felt differently. I had someone around me of I wanted to. But it was ok just to enjoy me. So glass of wine after another one. I could never think I could think in another language. So naturally. And then it came. Just me. By myself. With no fear being alone. And lonely. I didn’t have to do that. Even though I chose to. And it felt good.
After some glasses of wine. (just for a record I don’t smoke) I decided to have a cigarette. It always made me feel so dizzy in a good way. Just this time it was different cause it didn’t have anyone to initiate to have it with… it was just me. So I was smoking. By myself. No reason. It was good. Then I realised that all lonely writers, Dostoyevsky, Hesse, Hemingvey, should have all been smoking… all those gorgeous piece of writing came from people who once in a while felt alone. Not just because they had to be so but because they either chose so or the faith forced them to be that… no guit, no sacrifice… just me, myself and I…