I had several dreams this night, maybe because I woke up several times I get to remember them. I don't know if I woke up because of the dreams, the fan, the intoxication of the alcohol I drank last night or because of my uneasy mind. Some dreams were disturbing. It's amazing that dreaming me cutting my nails and getting them out can quite disturb me. I got up to lower the speed of the fan and went to bed. "Where's my phone? I need to know the time." I quickly forget about my phone. "The alarm will wake me up."
7:30 and my phone wakes me up. I rapidly trace it and turn off the alarm. Right next to it there's my Pakistani phone. That's the one that matters now, the other one I've been using just for the alarm. 2 messages. In the Sender name, I see several numbers. "It's (name omitted)." I stupidly erased her number the night before so I wouldn't text her stupid messages in order to save my integrity.
"I want to take you to Goa (...)"
"Are you still on the rooftop?"
Yeah, Goa would be nice and I left the rooftop quite after she did.
I quickly delete her messages.
For a Portuguese, Goa will always sound as a Portuguese province and I wasn't even born in the times of the "pluricontinental", "multiracial" Portugal when the term colony was left in order to justify the war in the colonies during the 60's, while most of the colonial countries were conceding the independence to their former colonies. For the Portuguese "New State" those colonies weren't colonies, they were Portuguese provinces. Whoever sees a dying man, without an arm or a leg can quickly recognize that he fought in the Portuguese "provinces" of Africa and India.
My phone rings again and I quickly turn the alarm off. I feel stupid and need water. My mouth is dry. I think of Gandhi, a pedophile. A man that starved to lead India to its independence. A man that slept with 8-year-old to resist temptation. I'm glad I'm not Gandhi, a pedophile.
I get up and lower the speed of the fan again and lay down. Cheap mattress with cheap bed sheets. "I don't want to go to work," I say it out loud and work on that thought. I'm feeling sick, I hate my work... But I end up getting up just to lay down again. The fan's speed is good now as I'm lying down in my bed, centered right below the fan in the center of the room. My phone rings again and I wonder how many alarms have I set up, and I know the answer: all possible.
In the darkness of my room, I turn on the computer and I feel like texting (name omitted), not knowing quite sure what to say. No matter what I say everything will feel stupid and if I say something and she replies with a "you're sweet" I will even feel more stupid. I do nothing. And that's why I deleted her number. But there are several ways for me to act stupid and been an asshole to her. I can meet her directly, I can e-mail her. But I feel like avoiding all that in order to control my will. Have will to control my will. Nice.
I just get up and dress. This is no time to think about it. This is the worst time to think about it. I'm sleepy and with a hangover. I can't think right like this. I just wanna lay down in my bed but I also don't want to waste my time in my bed, especially when I'm alone there.
It's 8:00. Time to go downstairs, meet (name omitted), exchange some morning words, wait for the van. Enter de van, say Hi, think, think, think, think... West Wharf. The stink. Enter the company. Meet the boss. Hope that he's not in the mood of having long morning conversations. Whenever he does I always think he just had a nice sex night.
Drink tea. Eat orange. Smoke a cigarette. Have lunch. Soup. Daal. Roti. Wake up. Stop complaining. Start working. Morning's a bitch. Still, it's the part of the day that I most like.
Home, or place that I superficially call home.
Shower.
Close the door.
Get lost.
Find.
