Sunday, 23 March 2014

Writings on the wall.

It's 1am on a night out. Drinks have been spilled down my dress, makeup has started sliding down my face, and I've fallen out with everyone except that one girl in the group that I can't usually stand to be around, because "she's the only one who really understands me". Before buying her a drink and planning a summer holiday with her, nature calls and I stagger my way to the toilets.

I breeze into a stall and relieve myself of those seven gins and four jagerbombs. I suddenly find myself in the cubicle of life, pondering all of lives little questions that are sweeping through my brain faster than that last shot at the bar. I feel myself being drawn to the scribblings on the walls, wondering the stories behind them...

I turn and look to my left. Now - generally speaking, Richie is a boys name. I highly doubt that Richie has snuck his way into the ladies lavvy to express his 'eva'-lasting love for Holly on the cubicle wall. Has Holly done this, knowing in her heart of hearts that Richie does and always will love her? Is she a jilted ex who is taking time out of her 'I don't need no man!" bravado to miss him in the safety of the cubicle of life? Let it out Holly... no one can hurt you in here.

I turn to my right, and feel instantly bad for Elaine. Does she really smell like shit? Or is this just the result of a quarrel out on the dancefloor earlier that night? Long gone are the days of song lyrics and phone numbers - we're now choosing to diss while we piss. I'm suddenly suspicious of the use of pen over the popular scratching-into-the-paint method. Who comes out to a nightclub with a Biro? This was not a spontaneous act... Elaine was doomed from the start. I decide there and then not to trust whoever wrote this. Elaine, you probably smell wonderful - I've got your back.

I can't help but wonder if my name is scribbled on the wall somewhere in this world - is someone professing their undying love for me, or stating that I smell like shit? 

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