I drive through the dark alot now. Watching the lights flick past, like little bursts of life easily extinguished. I drive by whim, mostly. Alone, not accountable to anyone. Not knowing where I’m going, no destination in mind. I spend my nights moving, sorting through my thoughts, quite peacefully in my own company. Often theres no one on the road but me. And often, I drive far enough out of the city to be enveloped in the dark.

The time passes quickly, and I wonder how it is that I managed to drive as far as I have. Half way down the North Island. As far as I can go in one direction, and twice as far in another. Far enough to find gravel roads, and hidden logging roads and ‘private only’ roads. Far enough that it’ll take all night to take back home. I don’t mind, though. I recognize that this is a new phase, and I indulge in it.

Sometimes I drive quietly. Listening to the sounds of my engine, the wheels on the road, the rain on the windscreen. Sometimes I debate with myself, rage in heated arguments of scenarios and situations that are long since past. Sometimes I play music ridiculously loud and bounce in my seat as I sing along, tapping the beat out against the steering wheel. Sometimes I get lost, unable to backtrack the twists and turns I came down. But it doesn’t matter, really. If you keep driving long enough, you’ll find your way out eventually.

When I do finally arrive home, no one asks where I’ve been, and I don’t tell, either. And I like that, for now at least, that these trips around the country in the dark are mine, and mine alone. Mini adventures in the night, going places that I’ll probably never see in daylight. I’m sure there’s a lesson in here, some indication of where I’m at, of what I’m doing. I’m sure there is, but I don’t think about it, or let it worry me.

It is what it is, really. And I think that’s enough for now. It is what it is. And I’ll guess I’ll get where I’m going when I get there.

I didn’t want to work. I really, really did NOT want to. It was going to be a huge gig – two rooms, nine djs, something ridiculous like 600 tickets sold. It was going to be mad. Huge. Outrageous.

And I don’t work mad, huge or outrageous gigs. I’m not coordinated enough to work behind the bar on such nights. I’m too slow, and don’t have the skillset to handle that kind of gig, the press of people, working the till that they changed special for the night or the outrageous drinks (oh, I’m sorry, you wanted something other than a Corona? Sorry, we can’t do that. We only sell Corona now because its easy and I can do that).

Knowing this, I didn’t want to work because I’d be doing the jobs I didn’t really want to do. And then a few days before they got desperate. People kept dropping out and then they got real desperate. Not for someone to work behind the bar, but for people to work the floor. So, with a great show of reluctance, I said that if they were desperate, and if they needed me, I would work. They did, so I said I would.

And then I proceeded to bitch about it not wanting to do it. Because I did. Not. Want. To. Work. And I made it clear that this was the case. Being a glassie bitch is hard work. Really, really hard work, with almost no end result, no visible satisfaction. I worked it once before, and it was an absolute rubbish night. Its a painful, painful cycle of fetching peoples dirty glasses and cleaning them. I tried to find people to replace me, but the bar didn’t want strangers. In the end I convinced my friend Lyth (the amazing, wonderful, brilliant, best friend ever) to come work with me, so at least I wasn’t working alone.

And I bitched right up until I walked into the bar. I took a red bull shot, and then I bit my tongue, and did what I was asked to. And at first it as just moving tables, and many people trying to do a million things. Two hours in and there was nothing for me to do, so I danced on the tables in the VIP section, and then again in a big empty room filled with balloons. Both which made me feel exponentially better.

And then the night got started, people (an outlandish mix of the respectable and the manx) started showing up. I broke my first glass and was able to laugh about it. I polished wine glasses. And then before I knew it the bar had filled up. And the DJs were pumping out fucking awesome sets. And then I had a group of friends arrive. And another crew. And then I decided that fuck it. I could work AND dance. So I did. I’d do a round, clear whatever I saw whenever I saw it. Check that bathrooms, put a tray in the sterilizer, and then I’d head to the nearest group of friends and DANCE! There was so much dancing. Working meant that I had a reason to excuse myself (do another quick round) and then go dance with another crew. And it was BRILLIANT.

The music got under my skin, and into my blood stream. It was pumping, and put a bounce in my step and a smile on my face. The quicker I did a round, the quicker I could get back to dancing on the floor. I was downing energy drinks, and I rode a sugar high all night. I was dancing while I polished glasses, and collected empties. I danced through the crowd, arms filled with stuff. I danced with the bar tenders. I danced outside, where you could feel the beat through the concrete. I danced with strangers, and with friends and staff and it. Was. Brilliant.

I may have bitched right up until I walked in the door, but once I was there I was good. Amazing. Brilliant. I may have broke a few more glasses than anyone else. I may have sliced my fingers to ribbons, and have bruises in odd places and burns across my knuckles. I may have got smashed in the face by an idiot brandishing a cane. And been intimidated and threatened by drunkards in the garage. I may have worked a 15 hour day while hungover, but when I finally got home?

I was still dancing the shower.

I’m glad that the night turned out well, that despite my bitching, while not unfounded, the work did not eventuate in the way I expected. I met a fair few new people, and had a brilliant time with friends who had come down especially to see me. I was asked for my number, and then to dinner and was told that I was ravishing. I’m glad that I got to dance in rooms filled with balloons, and that the dj’s sets were so brilliant that I had to stop whatever it was I was doing and go dance.

It was a good night, a REALLY good night. I’m so glad that it was. Sometimes I think I get in a mindset and let it get me down. I’m glad that I was proved wrong. I’m so, so glad it was brilliant.

I hate this part of the game. The awkward texting, facebook stalking, delving for details, trying to understand and figure out if this is something to continue or drop, trying to find footing, where he stands, where I stand . . .

It was easier the night before. When the music was too loud to talk, when everything we said was by touch, with a look and a smile. He had these gorgeous brown eyes, I remember, and a cute grin. He seemed nice enough, treated me with respect, didn’t look at the other girls while I was around. Seemed honourable enough. We danced alot, and it was nice to feel wanted, it was nice to have this without cheapening it, without ruining the simplicity of what it was with words.

But now, in the days that follow, the details are slowly coming out, my life, his life, what he does, where I live, his history, and mine. And at first it was amusing (you’re how old?! You do what? Ha, me too!) And then we get into what are we were looking for, what we want. And then it became complicated (You’re leaving? Forever? Sad face).

It will all come out, eventually. What I want, what I’m doing, and I’d rather do it face to face than screen to screen. I don’t want to hurt his feelings when I tell him I’m not interested in his details. That I just wanted to dance. What I really miss the simplicity of that first night. When it was simple, and easy and the details were unimportant. When the music pumped up through the floor as you moved, when the beat tied you together, when the whats and hows and whys didn’t matter. When all that mattered was the right then and there.

It was just better when the details didn’t complicate things, I think.

Hurrah, I’m officially over half way through this project! April has been a mad month, absolutely mad. I joined a gym with Fiedi, and the first few weeks of that were pretty painful. I fainted in my first gym session, which wasn’t at all awesome. I accidentally broke some hearts, too, and ended all my nothings. So that was a painful lesson to learn. I worked behind the bar (for what I’m pretty sure was the last time), which was brilliant (though, not the work part. The party part was awesome). I fell madly head over heels for Dub Fx, and have been thrashing his brilliance to the exclusion of all else. I’ve been slowly getting myself organised for possible adventures, which has been a lesson in patience and organisation. The last week wasn’t so brilliant, with two funerals to attend. I was closer to those that grieve than those that passed, but still, funerals aren’t particularly easy.

Apart from the last week or so, things feel more stable this month. Like I’ve finally found my footing, and I’m not grasping for handholds, and I don’t have to hold my breath anymore. It’s kinda nice :)

1st of April 2010 to 30th April 2010. 207 down. 158 to go.

Past Months: October, November, December, January, February, March.