(no subject)
Alright. Day one of complete sobriety complete. Not nearly as bad as I thought. A good friend once said that all the drugs and alcohol in the world is fine, but once you start self-medicating, then you're fucking up. I fucked up. For a long, long time. You keep yourself on crutches for too long, and you lose the use of your legs. Time to relearn how to walk. Then it's time to run. But towards something, rather than away.
As the new year dawned, I hoped that it would be better than the past half-decade of constant disappointment and hardship. It's taken a while, but I think I've got it through my head that sitting on my hands and hoping for the best isn't the way to go about it. I've got to do something about the things that are keeping me from realizing my full potential, instead of waiting for someone to save me.
The future's wide open, and I think I'm ready to walk towards it, chin-up, back straight. The changes I've wrought in just the past three months are fucking amazing. Granted, it's been hell getting my mind used to thinking about different things, in different ways. But so far, the pay-off has been more than worth it. And in reality, I think the hardest part of all is my reluctance to stop habits. It's not that I lack the willpower, or anything like that. It's very, very odd. Let's take a look at my potheadedness. The only reason I didn't quit months and months ago is my roommate. I feel really, really guilty about quitting on him. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that bong hits became a routine for us. Maybe it's because we share the expense of buying drugs. I usually seem to lose out in this area. He's able to take a much, much bigger bong rip than me, and also likes to smoke was past the point of being pleasantly high. Which just makes me fall asleep anyways, which makes it a fucking waste. Every waking moment spent in each other's company included the use of drugs. I think my desperation to fit in with other people takes over in these situations. I don't even really like smoking pot. The only time I really liked it was after work, and then only as something to relax my muscles. And I can probably figure out how to do that without drugs. I'm of above average intelligence, I don't see why it's not feasible.
However, I can't help but feel like I'm setting myself up for a fall, somehow. I need to go out and try to find those special few people I've met over the years that actually care about me, and my well-being. Not for their sake, not because my being happy was in their best interests, but because they just wanted me to be happy. Not too many of them around. Talk is cheap folks, your actions bely the words that come spilling out of your mouth.
It's interesting. I had to become everything I hate in order to get myself back on the right track. For some reason, that makes me rather sad.
On a less introspective note, I could really, really use some time away from my apartment. Anyone have any ideas of where an intellectual can find other intellectuals to kill time with? I wandered around downtown Tempe last night, and the night before last (walked about six!?!! miles each night), but I didn't see too many signs of intelligence through all the facades and bravado. Too many people who care too much about what other people think of how they look. Except for the street people. The street people are awesome. I gave one of them my old Columbia fleece jacket, since I don't fit it anymore. And then I picked up all the trash that the drunk idiots had strewn about Mill Avenue. It was a good walk. I'm going to have to do that more often. Tonight I went around a bit, to see the night life, and some fellow tried to fight me because I uprighted a newspaper rack that he had knocked down. I guess he's holding some sort of grudge against the New Times.
Seriously, why do people look at me like I'm a leper when I pick up trash?
As the new year dawned, I hoped that it would be better than the past half-decade of constant disappointment and hardship. It's taken a while, but I think I've got it through my head that sitting on my hands and hoping for the best isn't the way to go about it. I've got to do something about the things that are keeping me from realizing my full potential, instead of waiting for someone to save me.
The future's wide open, and I think I'm ready to walk towards it, chin-up, back straight. The changes I've wrought in just the past three months are fucking amazing. Granted, it's been hell getting my mind used to thinking about different things, in different ways. But so far, the pay-off has been more than worth it. And in reality, I think the hardest part of all is my reluctance to stop habits. It's not that I lack the willpower, or anything like that. It's very, very odd. Let's take a look at my potheadedness. The only reason I didn't quit months and months ago is my roommate. I feel really, really guilty about quitting on him. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that bong hits became a routine for us. Maybe it's because we share the expense of buying drugs. I usually seem to lose out in this area. He's able to take a much, much bigger bong rip than me, and also likes to smoke was past the point of being pleasantly high. Which just makes me fall asleep anyways, which makes it a fucking waste. Every waking moment spent in each other's company included the use of drugs. I think my desperation to fit in with other people takes over in these situations. I don't even really like smoking pot. The only time I really liked it was after work, and then only as something to relax my muscles. And I can probably figure out how to do that without drugs. I'm of above average intelligence, I don't see why it's not feasible.
However, I can't help but feel like I'm setting myself up for a fall, somehow. I need to go out and try to find those special few people I've met over the years that actually care about me, and my well-being. Not for their sake, not because my being happy was in their best interests, but because they just wanted me to be happy. Not too many of them around. Talk is cheap folks, your actions bely the words that come spilling out of your mouth.
It's interesting. I had to become everything I hate in order to get myself back on the right track. For some reason, that makes me rather sad.
On a less introspective note, I could really, really use some time away from my apartment. Anyone have any ideas of where an intellectual can find other intellectuals to kill time with? I wandered around downtown Tempe last night, and the night before last (walked about six!?!! miles each night), but I didn't see too many signs of intelligence through all the facades and bravado. Too many people who care too much about what other people think of how they look. Except for the street people. The street people are awesome. I gave one of them my old Columbia fleece jacket, since I don't fit it anymore. And then I picked up all the trash that the drunk idiots had strewn about Mill Avenue. It was a good walk. I'm going to have to do that more often. Tonight I went around a bit, to see the night life, and some fellow tried to fight me because I uprighted a newspaper rack that he had knocked down. I guess he's holding some sort of grudge against the New Times.
Seriously, why do people look at me like I'm a leper when I pick up trash?