a 'love' that stinks of addiction

Shelved blog posts are the greatest – so long as you write something that isn’t temporally specific you can hammer out all at once and leave it sitting until those days when you don’t have anything to say. Like this post for instance. I’ve had the intention of saving it for later. Something tells me that it will be used tomorrow, but that tells you nothing what with your not knowing when today is. I am reaching out from the ghost of my past to speak to you today.

With another caffeine over-indulgence. What does all of this do to ones body? I don’t know exactly, but I feel like I’m invisible and what I say can’t come back to haunt me because you won’t find me anywhere, anyhow. Maybe, that’s why I’m sitting in my office with no pants on.

I sincerely don't feel like writing. I don't have the discipline to think. Some people who say they love me are using their (mania expectations nostalgia jealousy) claim on my loyalty to distract me from my own thoughts. My own goals, which are always, more along the lines of producing than consuming.

I am working an unmanned experimental aircraft tonight and guarding four scratchy frequencies and I may have a health problem to deal with soon but in the quiet moments of my interrupted existence, I keep thinking of the last three movies I've paid to see. Maybe it was the company I was in, or the show atmosphere. But I keep thinking of the pain behind addiction.

How often creativity and the need to re-birth, re-parent yourself, springs from the same baptismal font as the thirst for a craving. It's not that I'm not romantic. Or being remote or sadistic. I just don't have time for a 'love' that stinks of addiction.

Compulsiveness hurts. Distraction is a form of abandonment. Perhaps the most cowardly and passive form.We remember. We noticed. We were there. Whether the addiction is to the internet, or compulsive volunteering, or to serial romantic manias that remove your ability to be in the moment with real life you remember. We are scarred. And scars are ugly and boring.

I have avoided addiction before, but at what cost? I have all the charisma of a dry drunk. But I’m afraid I will never grow up, cringing with dread and panting with rage. And I have never bull-shitted anyone. My absence of mindfulness in this realm is for anybody's greater, own good.

I am spent.

Positive conversation commences now.

Talk amongst yourselves.