Junkie

Soundtrack: Anything by Lana Del Rey

More bad news for a guy who prefers good news.

Friend of mine may be headed to ****
Struggling to hold it together while the divorce grows more expensive and my housing plan has changed and I've got ***** amount of time ****** to figure out something else.

I used to wait for when the bad news would end, now I'm just looking for the days in between when I can pretend it's a good day for a spell.

Fuck it.
I'll survive.
If I have to sleep some nights in my car, so be it. The weather is warming up.
Trying to make $20 out of 15 cents.
I'm also giving up drinking for the next 6 weeks if not longer.
I haven't particularly enjoyed the process of drinking, of getting drunk or even being full tilt drunk all that much as of late.
That and it's led to the inevitable slide into faux-slights and wrongs with the girl I'm seeing and I'd rather not retrograde into my personal baggage being taken out on her simply b/c I'm drunk and I mis-perceive some fucking bullshit that's either not her fault or its something largely insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Is this/that what they call maturity?
Wow. Realizing it's not even about not caring, that it's just not fucking worth it as an expenditure of energy and that it's not fair to her or to whoever I may be seeing or near in proximity.

It's quasi-unrelated as I've always found a way to drink, no, I've always had more to drink the more broke I was. I don't and haven't missed it since before and after St. Patrick's Day.
My sole drive now is getting back to competing and my prior form before the surgery.

I drove home after getting the news about my living situation and headed along the dark, lost highway and felt tears well up in my eyes.
I gritted my teeth and breathed deeply. This is how it was always going to be, how it has to be, how it had to be.
I talked to the girl I'm seeing about everything which did not help nor change nor mitigate it in a literal or figurative sense, but her emotional support was welcome on a psychological level perhaps, at least that's what I tell myself in a half-hearted attempt to cheer myself up a modicum as if saying the words into the air will transmogrify into a brief flicker of transcendental reality on a level I could feel or discern. Went virtually straight to bed, tired of an abysmal day of living in the first world with its strange myriad of pitfalls and logistical nightmares.

I have to make my life even more spartan than I have already.....which is welcome in some regard if not tedious after months of doing so due to the divorce. It eliminates the meaningless trivial bullshit and I'm left with reading, writing, and training with my already rather obsessive focused split only among the 3 things which actually matter to your humble narrator.

Like Burgess's Junk(ie) articulates so simply yet eloquently, the life of an addict is feast or famine, all or nothing: periods of excess and pure elation followed by doldrums and routine and regret as the organism shrinks and expands with little time spent in the middle of either extreme.

Good luck and happy hunting.
Go forth and move forward always, even if it proves an inch at a time in the face of come what may.
      - Yrs. in Christ