So Shoot Bullets Through Me

Twenty-four hours ago I had it all: a potentially award-winning show, an incredible close-up set, endless prospects, a girlfriend, a mobile phone... Twenty-four hours later, as I blink my eyes open in a hotel on the seafront in Eastbourne, I have nothing. A neglected rake on the stage (a fifteen degree slope that is, not a gardening instrument) put paid to our meticulous piece of lushness, sending balance out of the window and sparking an inevitable, unstoppable chain of events: actors fell off chairs, lines were chopped, cigarettes dropped, glasses failed to appear and flames did anything but ignite. To mourn the loss of our show we took the matter into our own hands and got heroically drunk. All very well, except the very next day I had a close-up competition to win, or at least to try and restore some credibility. After three hours sleep I woke unable to move my head and with two hours left to do six hours preparation. I had the shakes so badly I thought my phone was on vibrate mode and I'd become surprisingly popular. The competiton went as well as it could have done under these conditions, i.e. poorly. I returned to the bar and began drowning my sorrows in orange juice when my phone, having had had enough of all the text messages of mocking commiseration, decided to join in. Unfortunately its circuits are rather more sensitive to citrus than my sorrows are and it shorted. Now, although I was enjoying my being cut off from the outside world, my girlfriend was not, especially as I'd spent the last two weeks holed up in rehearsals and incommunicado. When she did finally get hold of me on a friend's number, it should have come as no real surprise to me she suggested that, no, perhaps I shouldn't give her a call on my return, and yes, seeing each other was no longer an option. I, too tired to do anything but accede at this point, returned to the bar with work to do. A long night later, I woke up this morning, and in the abject pity of it all, when I came to with none of those things that had seemed so necessary, I felt a new peace. I let the blissful absence wash over me, the cleansing emptiness that liberated at last, and the truth finally flowed free: Nobody died, everyone's alive, they'll be other days. I turned on the stereo, so very loud, and left the last words to nina:

'Well once I lived the life of a millionaire
Spending my money, I didn't care
Takin' my friends out for a mighty good time
Buyin' boot leg liquor, champagne and wine
Then I began to fall so low
Couldn't find me no friends
Had no place to go

Just as soon as you get up on your feet again
Here they all come, they say that they're your long-lost friend
Oh lord without a doubt
Nobody knows you
When you're down and out'