Ten
Soundtrack: Rolling Stones / Jumping Jack Flash
Last night I sat on my own eating pasta and actually, physically, fighting my demons in the flesh. I had worked fourty four hours in three days and I was a wreck. And out of nowhere was the voice, the "you deserve to get drunk" voice.
Why?
Why do I deserve to get drunk? That's a stupid thing to think. I deserve to fucking sleep, to eat well and take care of myself now that I'm [almost] back on track. What, I think because I work for three days I fucking deserve to get drunk?
I had some red wine with my pasta, and when my housemate opened the door for me, I was a happy man.
********
Dear Danni...
********
But the fact that that part of me still fucking exists makes me a little sad. And it shows how fucking far I have to go. That I even have to talk to myself like that, watch myself like that. It's easy to forget, to grow complacent and let down my guard. It's easy to let pride back in, though two posts ago I wrote how good it feels to shed that shit.
Guh.
How long does it take, when you start doing the right thing [mostly] to feel good about yourself? Is there a certain personality, a type of person, who just has to keep on the Self-Improvement tip the whole fucking time? I want to improve, to grow, but Anthony Robbins is a heavy fucker to carry around all the time. Sometimes I still feel like being a stupid, young, crazy fool. And when I do, all this wisdom is forgotten...
I hate that it's so easy to regress, and that lessons learned must be relearned over and over until you get it right.
********
In the shop I've had to fold jeans. Over and over, until I get it right. Now I know how to do it, and starting Monday I'm going to start painting, the next step in improving the shop.
********
All I write now is honesty. I feel I've lost the power of prose somewhere along the way. I might revisit the past and see if it comes back.
Hell. The Sequel. [What comes after an epilogue?]
Fante had it down, he had honesty in his sentences, and the rhythm of a true fucking writer. All I have is pretention, and a story or ten to tell.
Last night I sat on my own eating pasta and actually, physically, fighting my demons in the flesh. I had worked fourty four hours in three days and I was a wreck. And out of nowhere was the voice, the "you deserve to get drunk" voice.
Why?
Why do I deserve to get drunk? That's a stupid thing to think. I deserve to fucking sleep, to eat well and take care of myself now that I'm [almost] back on track. What, I think because I work for three days I fucking deserve to get drunk?
I had some red wine with my pasta, and when my housemate opened the door for me, I was a happy man.
********
Dear Danni...
********
But the fact that that part of me still fucking exists makes me a little sad. And it shows how fucking far I have to go. That I even have to talk to myself like that, watch myself like that. It's easy to forget, to grow complacent and let down my guard. It's easy to let pride back in, though two posts ago I wrote how good it feels to shed that shit.
Guh.
How long does it take, when you start doing the right thing [mostly] to feel good about yourself? Is there a certain personality, a type of person, who just has to keep on the Self-Improvement tip the whole fucking time? I want to improve, to grow, but Anthony Robbins is a heavy fucker to carry around all the time. Sometimes I still feel like being a stupid, young, crazy fool. And when I do, all this wisdom is forgotten...
I hate that it's so easy to regress, and that lessons learned must be relearned over and over until you get it right.
********
In the shop I've had to fold jeans. Over and over, until I get it right. Now I know how to do it, and starting Monday I'm going to start painting, the next step in improving the shop.
********
All I write now is honesty. I feel I've lost the power of prose somewhere along the way. I might revisit the past and see if it comes back.
Hell. The Sequel. [What comes after an epilogue?]
Fante had it down, he had honesty in his sentences, and the rhythm of a true fucking writer. All I have is pretention, and a story or ten to tell.
posted by Sherriff at 3:05 PM
5 Comments:
there is no end point to your learning. there is no day that you wake up and find that that part of yourself has died. all there is, is the hope that as you resist the urge to feed that part of yourself and redirect your resources to the more valuable and rewarding parts of yourself, that voice gets smaller and softer and you become more able to ignore it.
i reckon anyway.
what you deserve is to be happy. sometimes its unexpectedly hard to let ourselves do the things that make and keep us happy.
end rant.
I like the writing better now. I like the humility. Or is it the humanity. I always get those two mixed up.
raw honesty without trying to shock, amuse or entertain. this is the sort of writing that is good. for most of us it's one step forward, two back. for the complicated people. the simple people just stay in one spot.
i know that sounds arrogant but it's not meant to. an observation.
i had 2 glasses alcohol and one small glass alcohol on different nights since last writing. even tiny amounts like that i feel in the morning. is it my imagination?
but at least it's manageable.
you do deserve to look after yourself. your body is the best friend you have, look after it. i know that sounds stupid, but it's not.
p
You're right about the secrets btw, from my experience anyways. Perhaps sharing every fucking thought you have on the net is a way of cleansing away the ones that bother you, and cultivating the others.
Perhaps if we all shared like you we'd realise how fucked up we all are, or how not, depending on ones perspective. Or.. what was I gonna say? I have no idea ey. the train of thought has been derailed or some shit. I am lost.
I am sick, actually. I think I shall sleep a long and deep sleep. See you all on the other side I hope. All? Who the hell would read this anyways.. mmm not so lucid. me go bye byes.
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