Monique has fucked off to Denmark.
Gives me a chance to try to get my head together.

I head out with Fergal and Sian and others.
After a certain number of drinks,
after Sian has sampled a sour mash or two,
I'm outside with her smoking
and she says: so, tell me, what's going on with this Monique?

I know Fergal has given her all the details.

I communicate things as I see them. But every one of her reactions
shows a different story.
All she sees is Monique's ego, and me, being taken for a ride.
She's after the boyfriend experience, she says.
It cuts me up to hear.
Cuts me up, because I suspect she's right.
Suspect I'm being used,
messed around.

Shit. I don't want to hear it. But perhaps I need it.

Can you cut her off? asks Sian.

Clearly then, if that's her question, I am in trouble.
I've taken the wrong path.

The rest of the evening I try to act unflustered,
but really all I'm thinking about is Sian's words.
Maybe she's right.

By the time I'm heading home, I'm angry with Monique,
and resolved to cut her off.
Some of my ego returning.
If she wants to keep seeing me,
it's going to be on my terms.
I'm not going to be the friend. Fuck no.
If she wants to keep seeing me,
we're going to bed.
I'm not going to be rock. Fuck no.

It's hard, at this stage, to know if this is just another fluctuation.
Perhaps by tomorrow, I'll swing back the other way.
But right now,
whisky coursing through my veins,
I'm determined that Monique will reap a barren harvest.
A rock solid wall.
This far and no further.
Take me or leave it.

I think back to her riding home with me,
her head resting on my shoulder,
sleeping.
I think back to her lying in bed with me,
subdued,
beautiful.
It's hard to believe she's motivated by vanity
to the extent that Sian believes.
Sian who has not met her.
It is not so hard to believe
that I am being led on a merry dance,
I,
who would give my left bollock to be with her.

I probably need to take a stand, draw a line,
to recover some pride.
And Sian says: the only way you can get anywhere, anyway,
is by taking a step back.

So it is to my old self that I am trying to return.
Pissing on love.
Pissing on romantic ideals.
Giving into the relentless reality of power,
and ego,
and the endless selfishness of the kindest hearts.

I aint never gonna find it,
am I?