you had a name but I forgot it

Of estimates first at eleven; and then by the sun, nine; and by the watch finally at seven-thirty; here I am. With the birds, spluttering over their harmonica chirps with my hack. Shitting over their morning rituals with my own repercussions of nocturnal habits. Holding down the faucet that is gushing out piss and whiskey, in my sleep.

There are four sets of closed curtains on the street opposite me. And to think I have struggled with nine ante meridiem the last two mornings.

I am like little what's-her-face whispering "thirty, flirty and thriving" ... wanting the self-assurance of age. To truly not give at all what the rest of the earth-place thinks (instead of just testifying such).

Father said yesterday, "have a little bit of drink to flush out the cobwebs -- that's what you do, isn't it?" So I had a little. A little by my conservative country's standards. I had a 'little' for my generation's limits ... crying excess and "more!" for everything. I had a fitting amount for a human burdened and blessed with abundance, number eight loss of power -- given up to that which overwhelms. Ruled by the glutton of my head, heart, eyes and tongue. I see it all and take none in. Or I see some of it and take every last.

There is no barrier on what you can and can't do when you are some other you.

Imagine if I dropped the "e" off the end of my name. How gloriously exotic I would look on paper: Natali, Natal; Natali. One less character. Six-figure name. Better than a six-figure salary, for my gender.

Oh, and here comes the courier. To deliver a reminder of my last sanity, happy (are they the same?). The parcel's a bit shabby and shit and has a hole ripped in it but that's ok, it's ok. It looks like a tiny roughed gemstone that's been hurled around amongst a burnt out garden of weed and rocks.

Oh yeah -- and I received good news yesterday. That's something to cheer up about, right?