I Lost My Phone (Again) On New Year's Eve.

It's around the hours of seven or eight a.m. on New Year's Day. I've just stepped in from Webster Hall on what is the best New Year's Eve of my life. I'm drunk, but not that drunk. Very much functional, having stopped drinking around 2 a.m. But I've made it home. Well, not home, I'm in New York. And not even my New York home, our beloved Meserole Street that was home for ten days. I'm actually at my friend's house in Staten Island, NYC. Because for some reason, it seemed wiser to do that. Drunken logic was that it was sensibler to head home with friends who lived much further than make my way home alone on what would have been a fifteen minute journey on the subway, and probably around the same length by taxi. Why would I have been alone? Well, we were playing a game of last man stranded and I'd vowed not to leave the club 'til at least 6 a.m. (the night was going on 'til midday). It wouldn't have been my first time drunk and alone in a foreign country. It wouldn't even be my first time drunk and alone in New York. And I'd been just fine all those times. Alas, my decision was made.

As I entered my friend's, I was feeling proud. I hadn't been arrested for being drunk and disorderly in New York City at a time where black men were moving targets for the police, combined with being on a night where every bar had open bar (and when they say open bar in New York... They really do mean open bar. Any drink you want).

Cardholder, check. 
Money (do I even know how much I'm supposed to have on me?!), check.
Passport, fuc-, oh wait, I put it in friend's bag because I didn't trust myself to not potentially lose it whilst drunk. 
Mobile phone, fuck.

I've done it again. Day six/seven and I've lost my flipping mobile phone. 

An Unhealthy Obsession

All my life, I've noted in others, and at some stage most likely myself, a desire to retire early. If it wasn't retiring early, it was wanting to retire my mother early. In the more recent years of my life, I've steered well away from that notion, truly wanting to spent the rest of my breathing days writing.

Why do we as humans have such an obsession with retiring early? And why do so few of these obsessions materialise? I think I can answer the first question. It's sad to say but one of the key reasons why most do the jobs they do is because it pays. That could be paying: - the bills
- holidays
- nights out
- addictions
- children
- debts