messy messier messiest

It’s coming to the weekend, well our one day off a week, and it’s looking like it might be another messy one.  I’ll translate for the americans who might not know what messy means.

–adjective, mess`y mess`i`er, mess`i`est.

1. characterized by a dirty, untidy, or disordered condition: a messy room. 

2. causing a mess: a messy recipe; messy work. 

3. embarrassing, difficult, or unpleasant: a messy political situation. 

4. characterized by moral or psychological confusion. 

5. a drunken night where only the photos tell the real story because you can’t remember it.

It seems to be happening every Thursday night, again our only night off a week until January.  To me there is no basis for comparison.  Yes there were isolated nights last year while I was traveling for Loud where we would go out and the only true gauge of the night was the photos the next day.  But this is a weekly thing, a party here, a bottle of vodka there and there goes the night, and I mean the whole night is just gone. Is this good for us?  Should I care?  I think I should eventually, but at the moment I’m going to embrace it and just have a good time while I can!  So for all you people who can’t party in Doha with us this weekend I’ll drink your share :).


I’m going through and doing another form of my burn that I did before leaving for the middle east earlier this year.  I’ve decided to finally clean out my web server of all my ex’s things.  It’s tough going through and cleaning out the past.  I thought it would be easier, but I’m finding things that she put there after she left me.  Since the account belongs to me now, there’s no sense in keeping the things and I could save myself a lot of trouble by not looking at them.  But for some reason I feel compelled to look. It hurts to look, to see the person you still have strong feelings for and not be able to do anything about it.  I tell people I’m over it and moving on, but finding little snippets of our life together and remembering the good is fine, but then that always seems to lead to the bad as well. There was a point in my life when I was growing up that was extremely hard to deal with, my grandmother was dying and we all knew it.  It was sad to see someone as strong as she was going the way she went.  I was happy to remember her as a strong person and I do remember that, but that’s not the first memory that comes to mind now.  Whenever I think of my grandmother the first thing I think about is her lying there, and I mean her body was lying there she had long since left and only a shell remained, and I made the decision not to go in to see her before she passed away, but yet my cousin demanded and drug me into the room to look at my grandmother to "pay my last respects to her".  Why is it we’re fascinated by death and paying respects to the dying?  Why can’t we remember the great person they were and why can’t we be allowed to make the decision to think of the good times without seeing the bad? It’s the problem I have, where I know there were good times, but right now the bad only seem to come through.  I don’t want to remember the bad anymore, I want to look back at the good, but I have a feeling that’s a long way off.