There's alot of significance behind a nasty hangover the morning after. I don't mean to wax on philosophically about the consequences of a night of binge drinking, but it's definitely reflective of where I am as of late. In college, I drank. ALOT. Since then, I still drink just as heavily as I did in the past, and what's worse is that my recovery speed is much slower. The process is also more painful. I am reminded of a recent interview Norman Mailer gave to Playboy where he talks about defacation.
" As a small premise, think of people who are terribly prudish about evacuation. They don't want to think about it, don't talk about it, it's beneath them, they hope it is terribly far away from them. I'd say, ethically speaking, that's not a comfortable way to be. Far better that when you're sitting on the throne- parenthetically it's interesting that we have that metaphor, 'the throne', precisely for the toilet- when you're sitting on the throne, you do well to be regal about it and enjoy the sniffs of your own waste. Smell your own shit and decide for yourself if you're a little more healthy or a little more unhealthy than you thought you were the last time you sat down. That's part of being close to yourself. You take this notion that what comes out of you may be unpleasant, but it is certainly real. It can be the nearest we come to a fact."I've got to admit, I like taking my time in the proverbial throne. I have to say, as of late, what I've found is very unpleasant. I'm decrepit, and I have got to change this. Growing up is a bitch.

One foot in front of the other

It's difficult to express oneself while in an off-mood without coming across as self-loathing, insecure, and pathetic. I have yet to find out a way to do so and this has become apparent when I revisit my old blog, which I've left for dead in an attempt to move in the opposite direction. I have found myself trying to find different ways to purge these nasty sentiments out of my system. I need a win, desperately. There's definitely a personal correlation between feeling a sense of helplessness and futility when I'm physically inactive. I've always stated that I'm the most at ease in transit. Forward motion gives me a sense of some purpose, even if its temporary, and in this perpetual moment of nothingness that I seem to find myself in, perhaps I should find something that keeps me in some sort of direction, even if I have to crawl to wherever it is that I'm going. Solitude is a tricky thing. It can encourage the muse of creativity to breed something worthwhile. On the other side of the coin, however, it can rear its ugly face and just destroy you. It's such a fine thin line. I can only hope that I find myself able to learn how to keep my head above the water and get home safely. One last thing, whoever said that not even home can be with you forever is full of shit.