No more putting up with shit - Vol.2

What an awful night I'd had. I was in bed and had this huge hangover and all I could picture in my mind was that image of him saying 'no'. What had happened to me? Was all that worth it? Was he worth it? I had screwed things up big time. Maybe he is really troubled, maybe something happened in the past for him to be like this (but he's only 20, so I don't think he actually had time to be hurt). Maybe he's just the ultimate typical Polish guy, who you have to meet when you're ten to get married when you're 30. I was lying in bed, looking out the window at the trees, or what once were trees, the gray sky. I sent Seweryn a message saying that I was gonna go that night and if it was ok to get there after 8pm. He replied saying that there had been some change in plans and Marek couldn't put me up for the weekend. He apologized and asked if it was ok for us to put it off for the following weekend. What could I say? No? I said it was ok, even though it wasn't. I was looking forward to embarking on that fucking train and going to the capital and for once not being able to walk two blocks and go to Kitsch.
On Saturday we arranged to have a little bailinho in the house, Junior would go to Coccoon and Patricia and I to Prozak afterwards. Patricia was out for the afternoon visiting a friend, I went to exchange some money, went to the market and bought some food. The weather was terrible, raining all the time and not cold, I was sweating with that coat and scarf. My hair was awful, I had just washed it and now I was out in the humid weather. I bought ham, cheese and chicken at the counter. Bought a couple of RedBulls (actually the cheapest version, Tiger). Made my way home holding those heavy cheap plastic bags with one hand and the umbrella with the other. I cooked, it was delicious. Every time I make my Chicken Krakow it gets better and better. I watched some TV, a really good documentary about prisions in the USA, some news and then when to the kitchen to have a beer. I listened to Myslovitz one hundred times, this time the whole CD. Myslovitz is my favorite Polish band. I listened to that album and started going crazy about getting old. I started feeling desperate and really going mad. I smoked one cigarette after the other and drained that Warka, which was cold but it's not so good. It's cheaper than Zywiec, though. Patricia came home about 7:30pm and Junior arrived at 9pm with booze. We listened to music, to everything. From Pet Shop Boys to Electro, from radio to Madonna, from Gorillaz to Femmes de Paris. We drank everything. We were hammered. Junior kept jumping up and down, Patricia was dancing and draining combo nbr 2, they both had the happiness pill, I didn't. I'm not into pills, I'm into combo nbr 2, which I also drained.
At 1am we all went to Coccoon, Junior wasn't feeling ok and I had puked at home before leaving. I was feeling better by the time we got there. We went to the smaller dancefloor, stayed for a while and then moved to the bigger one. On our way there I fell down the stairs and a guy that was sitting just kept looking. Patricia and their Turkish friend helped me to stand up, Junior didn't even know what was going on. We danced for about two hours at Coccoon, with me all the time asking Patricia to go to Kitsch. She kept saying: 'at 4 o'clock'. At 4am I asked to leave and we did, took a cab and off we went to Kitsch. Patricia only agreed to go there under one condition: to go straight to the dancefloor and STAY there, not at the bar.
We went there but we had to buy beer first, so we went to the bar and, of course, he was there but didn't see me.
We met Bartek, danced near the stage, music was dreadful as usual.
Every time I went to the bathroom I would stand behind the door and slowly stick my head out, almost like a spy, to see what he was doing. If somebody at bar saw they must think I'm a really, really sad girl.
Patricia had met two Spanish guys while I was out pissing and checking up on him. One of them, Jose or Diego or whatever, wanted something. I just wanted to kiss in the mouth, that's it, just a fucking kiss, but he wanted to get laid. I said that I couldn't because I was married to a policeman who worked in Katowice, but I could kiss him. He said ok. I told him to wait one second and went to say hey to Damian. He looked surprised and said: 'I thought you were in Warszawa'. I said I didn't go and he was going to say something and I said: 'Alright, just to say hey'. The Spanish guy and I went to check our coats out. Patricia wanted to go home anyway so we all went to the cloackroom. After putting my coat on I told Patricia to wait a moment. I went after Damian.
I asked if he was staying longer and that I wanted to have a beer. He said he wanted a beer but he didn't like when women bought him drinks. I asked what the problem was and he agreed to me buying him a beer, as long as he could buy me one at the rock and roll place he promissed to take me. I told Patricia that I was staying and SHE had to tell the Spanish guy I wasn't going with them. She said the guy looked for me in the place and I don't know if he saw me with Damian or not.
Well, we stayed there until almost 8:30am. Bartek kept coming and going. We didn't talk anything, say, deeper. He asked if I was still mad at him. I went all: 'Why should I be mad?' He went all: 'Because of the other day.' I said: 'I was drunk'.
He told me he had smoked pot before going to Kitsch and that he was starting to feel kinda sick. He walked me downstairs and told me he would send me a message on Monday about the place he would take me. He hasn't written yet and I don't think he will. And even if he does I can't go out because I'm sick. I wish I could erase his number from my cell phone.

...I just did it...