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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