drunk on a cold, tired roof

My bedroom is a clutter of books, unsorted and uncomfortable to look at, so i've escaped out of the window with the last of my cold beers to try and claw back some sanity. I have just managed two hours of sweet and precious sleep but have woken up in time for sunset, which is actually happening to the left - but I am more interested in the view in front of me, a view I have seen from the window I climbed out of for over twenty years (on and off), realising, in two days, the view from my bedroom window will be different, not very different, but not the same. It will not be, for example, the veiw I remember staring into when I was eight, trying to communicate with my best friend (who had moved away) using a spider-man Morse code sun reflector, it will not be the view I drew the curtains on the morning I lost my virginity, and it wont be the view I have failed to notice the few times I never made it to the bathroom in a boozy vomit rush.

I know I am making the neighbours uncomfortable, they're sitting on they're patio trying not to look at the hairy crazy looking fucker drinking beer in his pyjamas and playing load and ugly music.

My life feels like a novelty juggling act, moving houses, trying to learn an intensively difficult job and my unsuccessful love life all in the air. all expecting my complete concentration and unfailing organisation. Three balls that are getting harder and harder to catch, one ball that keeps on getting heavier each time it's caught, one ball becoming increasingly erratic in it's flight, and the last that may just plain explode any fucking minute

One beer left and I'm losing light - low cloud hid the pinks and purples of the normally beautiful pollution induced sunset, if you really look though the edges of some clouds are salmon pink flowing into a grey purple.

I'm going to stop now and just sit here for a bit.