Seeking joy and meaning in a joyless mind and meaningless existence

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Idle Hands

My drug of choice is opiates, narcotic pain killers.  Last night I came very near to breaking my rule about drug-seeking behavior.  (It's debatable as to how close I actually was to actually getting my hands on some pills, but I'll take whatever positive reinforcement I can get.)  And tonight I was an ass hair away from drinking myself into a stupor and ruining my sobriety, my diet and my budget.

As it turned out, I prevailed against my baser instincts, stuck to my eating regimen and took my brisk walk at lunch time.  When I came home, I prepared my submissions (see below) and then changed into my workout clothes.  On the way to the gym, I stopped by Target, but by this time, doing so many positive things was really starting to freak me out!  ("Death! Calamity! Transience! Decay!" Why does my brain hate me so?)

So I decided to bag the gym, buy a little bit of candy and then go home to watch comedies on Netflix.  I figured a venial diet sin and staying on the wagon would be accomplishment enough.  But then, I saw this really hot guy at the store, and it reminded me how disgusted I am with my looks.  Not to be shallow (though I am terribly shallow in some respects), but I'm still astounded as to how far I've let myself go.  I want to maximize my remaining youth, especially while I still have most of my hair.  Thus I harnessed the power of that disgust and dragged myself to work out after all.

And while I try to glory in my victory, I know that I'll still have to fight that same battle tomorrow and the next day and the next. will have to, at least for the foreseeable future, win these things again every single day.

Into the Breach

I've decided to do something that I haven't done in over a decadesubmit some of my poems to a magazine.  I dug out five of my best poems and actually gave them all quite a hefty revision.  Time and experience has given me a more objective ear, and I hope I've given them enough polish to be worthy of publication.  Of course, I've chosen to send them off to The Atlantic, and frankly, I have a better chance that my cats will start spontaneously crapping diamonds.  But if you're going to dream, you might as well dream big and start at the top.