Sunday, December 31, 2006
Just back from one of the worst dance nights thus far, and in a twist of morbid depiction, I must record this down for posterity's sake.
So it was that I fucking wasted cover charges at Upper Club, Union, then a post-midnight taxi fare home. Fucking wasted, all because of fucking bad planning on my part, and wave after wave of negative emotions overwhelming me, no thanks to the parents. It was seriously one of those nights that I would not have wanted to be either in Singapore or Cambridge; instead I would loved to have been put out of existence for the sheer misery that had been heaped upon a weary soul. Yes, I was dancing smoothly, no doubt. But I could not enjoy myself at all; I was merely zombified, a dead man walking numbly through step after step after step. And when things came to a head, I did the most unimaginable thing possible - I headed home in the middle of a bachata.
To cap it all off, the taxi driver, in a stroke of sheer brilliance, heard "Bishan" as "Yishun" and overshot the expressway exit. Thanks to him, I had the opportunity to be re-acquainted with my night blindness in the park as I attempted to figure out a route through the winding walkways. I must thank him for the rare chance to do so, mustn't I?
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I know I need to take a long hiatus from dancing, but like a glutton for punishment, I keep returning to Union. A hiatus is unlikely on home ground; perhaps a long break would be very feasible in Cambridge. Yes.
So it was that I fucking wasted cover charges at Upper Club, Union, then a post-midnight taxi fare home. Fucking wasted, all because of fucking bad planning on my part, and wave after wave of negative emotions overwhelming me, no thanks to the parents. It was seriously one of those nights that I would not have wanted to be either in Singapore or Cambridge; instead I would loved to have been put out of existence for the sheer misery that had been heaped upon a weary soul. Yes, I was dancing smoothly, no doubt. But I could not enjoy myself at all; I was merely zombified, a dead man walking numbly through step after step after step. And when things came to a head, I did the most unimaginable thing possible - I headed home in the middle of a bachata.
To cap it all off, the taxi driver, in a stroke of sheer brilliance, heard "Bishan" as "Yishun" and overshot the expressway exit. Thanks to him, I had the opportunity to be re-acquainted with my night blindness in the park as I attempted to figure out a route through the winding walkways. I must thank him for the rare chance to do so, mustn't I?
--------
I know I need to take a long hiatus from dancing, but like a glutton for punishment, I keep returning to Union. A hiatus is unlikely on home ground; perhaps a long break would be very feasible in Cambridge. Yes.
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