I want to drink. And I will. The nausea. I went dry for 3 months. I really did, totally sober. The time just flew. Cravings only exist when the taste is still on the tongue. At a loss for words again. I wonder how vapid my mind really is. It’s just a strange loop. Everything repeats the same shit. Past a certain age, I expect the wheel closes up and the broken record will begin to skip. There’s a reason why your parents are automatons. Am I in it yet?
When I was a teenager I figured I was good on life. It was so fucking long. They say it’s gone in a flash, but all the sleepless nights proved otherwise. Maybe it’s awareness that slows it down. Maybe it’s the feeling of falling. Everything is speculation.
Is it too late to take grasp of the knowledge I’ve been hiding from? To fight the self-sabotage. I’ve talked about it enough. Or concede to my hypocrisy and go numb. Accept life for the simple pleasures and renounce the guilt at every conscious level. It sounds nice. A great peace, a release of burden. Like sleeping. Or dying.
Am I brainwashed by my nation’s obsession with individualism? Is it natural? So much ambition. Expectation. Everything is in my hands, while at the same time being painfully alone in it. I probably wouldn’t have it any other way. To have all the responsibility, and to knowingly squander it. There’s beauty in that. Though probably not very original.
Sober ramblings make less sense than drunk ones. Alcohol is a reliable clarifier. Administered appropriately, and to the appropriate mind, it’s a very beneficial medicine. The skills learned from that brief window can be carried into life. Mental ease, acceptance of fate, the usefulness of apathy. To a certain mind, these tools can make you feel more at home in your own body. Of course, nothing eludes the nature of duality. Even sobriety,