Wednesday, March 02, 2005

The Long 2nd Days Journey into Night

Sobriety is a laughing matter. I have come to believe that the only reason why people don't give me the same reaction they did when I told them I was a vegetarian lies in the fact that they know that my restraint has an expiry date. That reaction being "WHY?"exclaimed with a vile and contorted sneer. All the talk on this subject, instead, hovers around what will occur in a month's time. Is this time of reflection just a tightrope to be walked, or a frosty window which frames the sordid conflict within my person?

It's quite funny what you notice when you allow (or dis-allow) yourself the opportunity to observe with some distance. Every person I socialized with today (aside from at work, which is one of the Great American Taboos that Europe certainly does NOT share) was drinking or smoking. As I recall, I had conversations with 12 people over the course of the day. That means I'm in the 8 ⅓% of people who aren't seeking to get fucked up. Just like everything else salient about me (except for my chronic whiteboyness), I appear to be in the statistical minority.

Standing around in the unbreakable chain of the marijuana circle (or "rotation"), tonight I observed (with my newly heightened senses) that the process terminates with surprising speed. It don't take long to get high. Time seems so expanded when you are waiting for you next hit (even when it is a multiple-piece, counter-rotating affair). Also, the rate at which people get drunk is also surprisingly quick. The reddened cheeks, bright smiles and slurred speech come hastily. Probably because these symptoms are welcomed, nay, expected.

I was commenting to one of such persons about how I feel high or drunk sometimes in the afternoon. This might be happening due to the normalization of my brian chemistry after so much consistent abuse, or might just be from the experiential expectation inherent in shifted consciousness. Reggae still sounds just as good. A slight nagging still exists; rap-rap-rapping at the cellar door of my subconscious. Is it the denied self, or simply self-denial?


1 Comments:

At 10:41 PM, Anonymous Johnny B. Cummingsweetly said...

Wednesday night was a night of prepartying before the weekend, and our good friend Dr. Jackass exhibited monastic restraint. Being the technological brontosaur that I am, I had not yet read any of his blog postings, nor had I had any conversation regarding the matter with him nor anyone else in our elipse of friends since the beginning of the month. As such, I had no idea that he was on a self-imposed departure from intoxicants. I only wondered why he was drinking just water at the bar we were at.
Without questioning his motives, be they from within or without, I can only cheer him on as only a friend can do. Kudos!

 

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