When I woke up in my bed early the third morning, I realized that these moments, the moments of eye-openings, truth-revealings told everything there was to be told about me, about the GT… about everything. In these moments, I was able to see everything from the previous day.
I remember the very first morning, how I felt. I felt lame. In some ways, the night before was good. It was a succes from many points of views – all but one, which was important enough to make it all lame. I was like a dog chasing cars – I did everything for my team, I made a good first impression, I was a hit, a hot-shot. But when it came to the highway, I was still that dog, whose mistake changed that all. I started that night casual, I ended up being lame.
The second morning was like turning the first one upside down. Everything changed. It was great. It was perfect. It was just as deep as the first one, only this time, I made all the good decisions. I scored at everything there was possible to score at. I added myself to everything. I jumped into the middle, without even noticeing it, without even thinking about it. I was the man of the move, not the brain. And still, without making plans, I was a success. Casually successful. Alcohol doesn’t mean a thing when it comes to how you end your night. There are no guarantees – you can blow your day and be an uptop gross, or you can win it all. This time, it all turned out to be perfect. I wasn’t the one who was after the cars. This time, I was driving. I didn’t pretend to be a luxury model, or the fastest – I was just me. And being me was, is, awsome. In that moment, when I was able to see this, I was set free. It all changed inside me. I was chased down. It was great.
When I woke up in the third morning, all the succes, the great things vanished. Disappeared, like they never existed. There was’t a single mark of everythig I scored at. They were all gone. My final moves were exclamation marks to everything that had led to that point. I have already released everything from myself – all the jokes, the shouting, bad language. My chords were broken, they felt like others have put their vet clothes on them for making them dry. It was over. I saw myself not just lame, but a disaster, a complete fool. I went over the edge. There were moments I couldn’t remember. A small part of my life happened without my soul being there. I fell over the edge. First, I welcomed it – I believed that it will turn out to be just as good, but it did not. This time, I wasn’t the chaser, nor the prade. I was nothing. It was nihil. I didn’t take any roles except the non-me, which is the negative form of awsome. There was no meaning in looking for answers. Firstly, because I had already passed the point of going back so long ago, that I couldn’t even remember. Secondly, and most importantly, there were no questions. I needed a role, I needed the honours – I couldn’t have them. And what was most disturbing is that I left the road not just of the reality, but my personality as well. It was a pity.
And still, later that day, when I got back on track, I gained information about what else happened that night, and though it did not deleted all the mistakes, it made me complete, it made me me. I had my honours, all the pretty faces, the good impressions. I gained new allies. When it come to the evaluation, it was all positive.
When the chips are down, it comes back to the good lifetime experiences. Nothing else should matter. Nothing else does.
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