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Shadow Boxing (with Hot Targets)

I fear I have diminished my own essence, my core, in the months of excess preceeding this turning point.  The edge that turns uneasily and bites at the insides of my soul when I allow it to go unused has dulled, and I suffer from that lack of teeth.  There isn't even a dull hunger for blood, or a thirst for the hunt.

This blade in my breast is little better than a domestic butter knife.

What do I want to hone this unfinished edge to be?


I had a secret dream that I held close between my cupped palms on lonely nights... that vacation this year would be magical.  I would be able to casually sit at a bar and casually have a couple of drinks, and allure some young (or not-so-young) gentleman into my company for a sennight... functioning, of course, under the allusion that I could pass as a casual drinker.  I'm not certain, but I think the duration of this car repair may have saved me from myself, this year.  

One good thing to come from all of this:  my entire family knows about my relapse now... so I'm no longer completely lying to them. (Well, except about the whole relationship dynamics of this thing between E and myself)  I am still trying, I suppose.  But the temptation to fling myself head-first into another pit of despair, to really muck it all up before I get my shit together, one sweet kiss of death, before I give up and magically know how to fly on the straight and narrow.

Yeah, the typical relapsed alcoholic stuff.  Trying to figure out how I can continue to live the dream, without actually having to commit to being sober, like ... forever.

Can't I be normal just long enough to meet the man of my dreams?  I'm so tired of scaring people off because I don't drink, and then scaring them off when I do drink and they see the reason why I don't drink.  It's a terrible cycle... one that really has no meaningful conclusion until I'm no longer so fucking batshit blind angry when I start to overdrink.  Why am I so bloody angry?  If I knew, maybe I could fight that source, instead of lashing out at shades of my past around me.

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