Social malcontent

There is a dry scratchiness in the back of my throat as I walk down another familiar passage to a bathroom that smells of ammonia and piss...

Strangers glance at me as I stumble past, through the maze of people and chairs littering the small space, hazy with the smoke. Anxious chatter, slowed down by sips taken from overpriced drinks. I weave my way back to the table; friends are waiting, chatting about another year that has flown by, gobbled up in the day to day. The tedious nature of “getting the next thing done!”

Empty smiles greet me as I sit down and take a deep drag, eyes watering I try to become part of another predicable conversation. As I shift my weight, it dawns on me: I abuse social lubricants to make it through, to impress and express these strange feelings of dejected malcontent toward people that I no longer seem to find interesting...

“I am moved by fancies that are curled

Around these images and cling:

The notion of some infinitely gentle

Infinitely suffering thing.”