Crashing

So we've thunderstormed our way into 2007, and I've hit the tail-end of the year-end partying, the year-end rain. The clouds broke gently this weekend, dissipating, leaving me with an old familiar rattling in my lungs, faulty-valved.

Christmas dinner with family, later popping champagne and dancing with friends at St James, while trapeze artists dressed as Santas flung themselves across the vaulted cavernous ceilings. Supper after that, and hiding out in a nearby waterfront apartment barely furnished, sitting around on the floor, gazing out across the balcony through the streaking rain as sunlight trickled in.

Then to Bangkok, the bombs on New Year's eve cutting short any plans of a jostling World Trade count-down. Hiding on the 21st floor with a bottle of red wine, watching the immutable river and its spanning bridges as fireworks erupted into the sky from 5 separate locations. They were undaunted, all the ships on the water sounding their fog-horns at the stroke of midnight.

And here I am now, with only those half-blinded nights to show for myself, every weekend at the clubs. Plus my childhood asthma, something I've never been able to completely shake off. I've been avoiding updating here, because of the astonishing amount that I've forgotten, those pseudo-poetic snapshots of life to fuel a regular melancholy desire. That, and I also can't remember when was the last time I had this much fun.