Desire

It has been ages since I last stepped into a club. All the shit about exams, the guilt trips I experience when I refrain from spending my hard earned money on booze and smokes, the things I tell myself to make believe that I'm better off at home than in some venue with a hundred other cute sweaty boys dancing to Gnarls Barkley; they aren't working too well for me.

In the past seven days, I've evolved into this hermit crab, shying away from birthday invitations and parties that stretch until the wee hours of the morning. Even the boyfriend has not been getting much time from me lately; we are both mutually separated for the time being due to other more important commitments, i.e. university.

Needless to say, my sex life is like the Nullabor. Dry and desolate.

Then again, I find myself substituting these worldly pleasures with the Internet, surfing for hours on end with no respite, blog hopping and porn downloading, news reading and website editing. My best friend for now is my right hand, and my worst enemy is the bed. I've managed to refrain from sleeping and eating, not really knowing how all that extra time I've supposedly saved in abstinence has gone up in smoke.

Miss the clubs.

Miss the boyfriend.