Jul. 03, 2003 - 2:30 p.m.
Coming down from the two week binge is painful and depressing. The T and B birthday weekends are over, and now I have to clean up the mess we made.
I spent close to twelve hours on the dance floor one night (err...and long into one of the mornings). Just thinking about it makes my skin tingle and tickle. I want to be there again, with the music like an avalanche burying me, completely enveloping me and separating me from the rest of the world. Engulfed in a multitude of sensations, pausing only rarely for a drink and a smoke, then throwing myself once again into the fray of bodies.
Lights flickering and changing and pounding out in time with the beat, bodies pressing up against mine, and looks that have weight trying to catch mine through the small spaces not occupied by writhing bodies. You could feel the lust and the jealousy and the pleasure and the pain float over the sea of humanity. Amidst people who throw themselves into it to purge, to seduce, to drink in, to offer themselves up, to simply feel; I was content and on fire, and I felt alive.
For a suspended moment in time, I was everything I had ever imagined. As all dreams do, it was over almost as soon as it had begun. And so, I hide behind my laundry and my computer screen and my list of things to do, and I wait for that moment in time when I can throw myself back into the seething mass and dance.
