A Romanian/Polish and a Ugandan Walk into a Bar

I don't blog, I never have, even the spell checker on my computer is throwing up the word blog as a misspelling. Not because I have an aversion to it or because I don't think it is worthy of my time, rather I've never known what to write.

What to say? What to say?

As my boyfriend grunts softly in his sleep. He has so many responsibilities and I know I should wake him up, and send him home, but I think he finds it a reprieve to come here and sleep. A bit boring for me, but a blessing for him so I let him sleep.

What do I do?

I type endlessly. It might be meaningless, it might be a bit boring for you, but let me drift off into a cathartic process such as my boyfriend's sleep, for my own entertainment.

I have friends at college - none of which are of my own nationality. They are a mix, a bundle of races, being Romanian, Polish and Ugandan. It is like an awkward joke, the Romanian/Polish/Ugandan and Scotsman all walk into a bar, and you know the Scottish one will be drinking at the end of it. Yes, sadly it is true in my case and even more unfortunate is that I can put them all to shame. They've all tried to out-drink me and throw me purposefully under the table, but it has never worked. I end up tucking them into bed at night, whilst the Polish man proclaims -

"I am supposed to be Polish. What are you? Some kind of machine?"

What to say? What to say? What to prove that I am not a machine?

I want to reflect on all that is perturbing and past, but I cannot quite find the words. I turn to music to form the thoughts in my mind and I turn to words to fade away the lingering heartache. Words to make me strong, words to make me passionate and words to eradicate my passiveness. I tell myself not to be ashamed of aggression, vices and insecurities - they are just broken shards of my healing soul. My soul is like a mirror: I keep smashing that bastard accidentally and then it is tainted with seven years' bad luck.

Do I have pride, dignity and grace left? I am trapped in this iron cage with an iron soul that weighs me down. I don't fly and soar - I fear and stutter. My greatest fear engulfs me, like a rolling tsunami, when I wish I could sting these critics like hives. Yet, it is me that strikes the fear into my timid mind - I am the only critic holding myself back.

So what to say to these friends of mine, rather like a United Nations conference, at college? I drink because I need to, I drink because I fear and I drink because of experience. I am no machine and you should not be ashamed, as you have not travelled down this path of mine. Bless you all, you lightweights!

Speaking of which, I think the Ugandan's wine glass is running low - better top her up.