A Jumbled Account

[Before reading this and getting confused, you should know that I wrote this more as an artistic expression than an actual entry. But you will see how this Friday night account actually matches up to the true order of events as clarified in "Day 6 (In Summary part 2): 'Reincarnations'".]


Norfolk Terrace, UEA. Day 6. 13:20. “A Jumbled Account”

      I just woke up. Yeah, it’s 1:20 in the afternoon. My ears are still ringing a bit, my eyes are a bit heavy from the sleep, my stomach still feels the alcohol in a harmless yet gross way. The memories are not forgotten, but recalling them brings back some fragmented sensory flashbacks: the blaring music of American throwbacks of 10 years ago (yeah, I’m talking “Stacy’s Mom” and the like), the changing color lights, the fantastic taste of this apple juice alcoholic cider among other drinks I sipped or drank, the three taxis, meeting a random guy outside the main dance floor who discussed his passion for music with me, the smoke room I had to go through to find the girls from our rather large UEA group, the discounted price at the entry to the club Project since I knew the British guy Sean, the kickback at Sean’s, meeting Michael and other Oregon student (blonde, tall girl and the name is not registering), pesto pasta, the text from Mo, tired on my feet, union pub wait for taxi pretty long, not being able to stop talking in a British accent while inebriated, especially in the third taxi, the hilarious money split with Joe while buying cider at a gas station and the lady at the cashier at first saying “Okay, now, I’m really confused”, Anna’s generosity in sharing her food, being lifted up by Sean and Joe at one time on the dance floor, congested dance floor, King’s cup—no, ring of fire, MTV music videos of Olly, buying a drink for Sean since he did for me earlier, the Apple, apple earlier in the day, groceries, Anna’s card didn’t work at the store, then scavenger hunt too long and sucked, then party, then club Project, taxi home with roomie, nice guy Michael, and Alex, then there were weird dreams of back home like every night and probably fusing two different parts of my past together (i.e. middle and high school blending), now here typing at keys, trying to do a version of the Joycean or specifically Ulyssian style of writing. A jumble. Jum. Ble. Jumjumchumlum-bull. Bole jum. Jimbool. Jimble. Jumble. E.

            OKAY. I’m glad I got that out of my system. I guess my thoughts are not really in a refined mode. I think I’m going to run and then try to pinpoint what happened when and where. Not that I don’t know, more that I need to run the last two-night wildness that I’ve had out of me and then eat and then write this out again. Cheers.