“We all look for happiness, but without knowing where to find it: like drunkards who look for their house, knowing dimly that they have one”
Voltaire
A terrible nights sleep and hungover.
As I fell asleep last night the beer in my stomach was churning. It was a nauseating sensation. When I finally fell asleep my mind kept wallowing in the idea that I was having a bad night sleep and tomorrow I would be hungover. It seemed like I was convincing myself this was going to happen. Some part of my brain would be disappointed if I wasn’t unwell today.
Sure enough, this morning I am not at my finest. Although the hangover catastrophe my imagination forecast has not really eventuated. Somewhere in my conscious, there is disappointment at my lack of suffering.
“We suffer more often in our imagination than in reality.”
Seneca
We spend the morning doing nothing. Craving bad food in the hope it will make you feel better. Holding out for a few hours before heading to Al Jawareh for a karak and an omelette.
“The hangover was brutal but he didn’t mind. It told him he had been somewhere else, someplace good.”
Charles Bukowski
I lay about and spend the afternoon reading. Last year I read Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World and imagined it was a rival to 1984. Huxley’s work has certainly managed to capture much of what society has become, Orwell saw the writing on the wall.
“One believes things because one has been conditioned to believe them.”
“I am I, and I wish I weren’t.”
Aldous Huxley
Hangovers are not too bad if you have nothing to do.
Do nothing is not as easy as it sounds. There is a certain guilt involved when you are unproductive because of a hangover.
In bed early, too lazy to make any dinner.
This entire entry feels inadequate and sloppy. It is almost as if you can read the apathy in the text.
Never mind.
“…this evening it’s too late, too late to get things right, I’ll go to sleep, so that I may say, hear myself say, a little later, I’ve slept, he’s slept, but he won’t have slept, or else he’s sleeping now, he’ll have done nothing, nothing but go on, doing what, doing what he does, that is to say, I don’t know, giving up, that’s it, I’ll have gone on giving up, having had nothing, not being there.”
Samuel Beckett