dark am i, yet lovely, a lily among thorns, majestic as stars in procession

dark am i, yet lovely, a lily among thorns, majestic as stars in procession
WHY DESTROY YOURSELF? WHY DIE BEFORE YOUR TIME? THE KEEPERS OF THE HOUSE TREMBLE. DESIRE IS NO LONGER STIRRED. DO NOT CONFORM ANY LONGER TO THE PATTERN OF THIS WORLD.

Saturday, 2 December 2023

Can I Get A Rewind

 

Hello again. I’ve slipped up and used during the early part of this week but I’ll not linger on it but rather jump straight back into the saddle. It’s not worth crying over spilt milk. After a week off it’s a little harder battering the white void. The more you do it the easier it gets. It’s like practising snooker or pool. When professionals take a few days away from the table it must feel like a lifetime. It’s exactly the same with writing. If I’m honest, I’m struggling to pen anything at the moment. This post is proving difficult. It could be to do with the fact that I spent the whole of yesterday in bed, nursing my comedown. I had a tragic, romantic dream. I’ve forced myself up this morning to attend an AA meeting. It’s only around the corner from where I live. It’s a rather large meeting, attended by forty to fifty or so. I find it friendlier than the NA fellowship. Who would you rather be locked in a room with, a gaggle of drug addicts or a band of drunks?

I’m not even an alcoholic. Given, I’ve been drinking almost every day for the last month or so, but I don’t self-identify with alcoholism. It’s not what makes me tick. Neither do the drugs. If I had to call myself something, I would call myself a sex addict. The substances just make it sweeter; the booze merely eases the pain. I’ll be having a tipple or two straight after this, however; there’s a Wetherspoons not far from here, on the way home. I usually have about three or four pints of lager, depending on my mood. Sometimes, I’ll drink some cans from the shop in the evening. I’ve recently gone 8 weeks with no booze at all, so I know it can be done. I was drinking four or five coffees instead of four pints.

I forgot how hard it can be to simply type some writing up. Things are just harder when I’m far from rare. That doesn’t mean I’m about to give up. I think I’ll always connect here with you and go on a mad waffling streak, even if I’m waffling about nothing. I hope you’re doing well. I take great delight in other people doing well. I know a gentleman from therapy group who landed on hard times in the summer. He lost his wife and his home and everything. His rough going adversity has recently ended though, after it tiptopped with a suicide attempt. He’s found a new home, met someone new, and got a new job. I’m overly delighted for him. Would I be happy for you, if I knew your circumstances? Or are you having it quite hard as am I?

This blog is the only writing I’m doing at the present time. Is it enough, or do I need to write a story? I honestly don’t know where the next one is going to come from. A lack of ideas is not the problem; it’s the execution of those ideas. If I had a comfortable study with a regal mahogany desk, things just might be slightly different. Or am I making excuses? Peace out x


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