news and weather at the top of the hour from cape disappointment
I reached the end of my scheduled sobriety bender. And now I am indulging. Some wine. It's delicious. But. Maybe, in the morning, I will decide to hop right back on the wagon and ride it through the rest of the year. I don't know. There were some days, this past month, in which I really, really wanted a drink. But I flexed my willpower and maintained and abstained. I really like drinking. But I've also found that I really enjoy being a tea-sipping monk. What the fuck am I gonna do??? The plan is to be a weekend evening drunk. Not a drunk. Just a few drinks. Like a gentleman. And then, for the rest of the week, monk-mode. Yes, I'm going to try that. I weighed myself at work, this morning. I've lost a whopping five pounds since I started all this weirdness in September. But I think it was five pounds of belly fat. I feel like I can slip through invisible cracks in the universe.
I'm almost done reading "Dead Wake". Just got to the part where the torpedo strikes The Lusitania. I knew what was coming, but still I was rooting for everyone on board. I wanted them all to somehow be spared. And, fuck, life on those German u-boats sounds miserable. Why did so many men sign up for those jobs? So many ways things can go wrong and subject one to a horrible death. Goddamn those u-boats. I wanted the Lusitania to safely arrive at Liverpool. And maybe keep the US out of WWI? I don't know. History overwhelms me. Everything is so vast and terrifying. But I don't feel that way about the universe. All the unlimited space of planets and stars and dark matter--it makes me feel peaceful. It's bigger and older than all of us. But history just makes me want to hang my head and cry.
A young woman, K., and her co-worker came into the mailroom today. Her co-worker gathered supplies while K. climbed up onto the counter and reclined like a model posing on the hood of a muscle car. She has one of those tall, slender yoga/runner bodies. I was very aroused. We were chatting. In another life, I would pursue her. But I give up on empty pursuits. I don't even have much contact with IL, these days. I'm afraid to find out the latest news. It's always bad news. I don't believe she thinks of me very often. Which is fine. Stealth mode is my SOP. I dodge prisons and relationships in favor of a lonely life of books and records and sometimes drinking. After "Dead Wake" I have Marcus Aurelius' "Meditations" on stand-by. I got it in my head, for some reason, that the Stoic philosophers might have something that speaks to me. I mentioned it to R., and she said that she really loved "Meditations". I also picked up Seneca's "Letters From a Stoic". I was reading an old article about Philip K. Dick's influence on Sonic Youth--especially on "Sister". That plus the coffee put my brain in a heightened manic state. Virus of history, each decade a step on a escalator. I think about it and want to hold my head and cry. I wish I hadn't lost touch with the Polish lady I had breakfast with a year ago. When I was still sealed in my spacesuit and falling through the black hole, IL standing atop a spiral staircase far above me.
I'm tired of hearing about the "opioid crisis". The government calls everything a crisis. The only crisis is that I don't have my own stash of painkillers. I would take them all and set sail from your motherfucking planet, Earthling. I'm not impressed with your world or your history, Earthling.
Still thinking about K. reclining on the mailroom counter. Those long legs. That dark universe of hair. I wish I could overdose licking every inch of her body.