'Have We Heard The Chimes at Midnight, Master Shallow?'
I am allowed the pleasure of reflecting on this entire experience while gazing at the amazing Seattle skyline, looking across Puget Sound. It's a gray day here in Washington, not unlike most days this time of year. The sun's light refracted through the clouds gives an even cast on all of Allah's Creation. Shadows barely exist in this light. Nothing can hide itself, not even my self-deceptions. I've laid it all out on the table for you (or most of it anyways). Now I'm expected to sit here and belt out some kind of hifalutin' inspiration for you all.
WELL, you want it... here it is: There really is NO substantial difference between sobriety and lecherousness. I didn't sleep any better, I didn't have more or less energy during the day and I really did not feel much difference in my mood other than an net increase of boredom (and occassional frustration). If I had been a raging alcoholic, then maybe at the end of this journey, I'd be peering out the window to a new life, or some played out nonsense such as that. I excluded myself from social situations, preferring the sweet solace of the Internets to the masochistic temptations of bars and house parties. Since I am a social animal, and most of the pleasure that I derive from life comes from shared experiences (the intersubjective, as Brendan would put it), I think I'm going to begin drinking and smoking post-haste.
Georgie's comin' home Martha, pack a fattie and start grilling up some grits.