Strange days, stranger nights

Nights like this are weird... when i "pine for the fjords" as Jon W would say...

Empty house, so I have time to think, and often- thats a bad thing. When the girls are here, I dont have time for that- its all about them. But when they are gone, its a little precursor of life-when-they-leave.

For now, its a welcome respite. Free time to myself. I can wander around the house in my underwear, drink too much (and not have to maintain) and just be myself.

It's nice. But. its boring as fuck. And weird nights like this make me think of the old, wilder days.

Days of Adrenaline, Testosterone, and Mindless agression.

Some good nights, some bad nights. Never a boring night to be found.

It's hard to settle in to this "peaceful" existence after all that.

I work on the yard, and when I'm done- I pace, back and forth. I wonder is this ADD, ADHD, or alcohol fetal syndrome? I cant relax- without the obligatory drinks..

Books are the only escape. Saved by literature. Take myself out of this world and into the next.

I want absolutely nothing from this world now.

Not- a - goddamn - thing.

And, nights like this= without the girls here to keep me anchored to my duty- make me wild and antsy. They make me dangerous.

and i know this.

So, in my wisdom, i settle in, and numb the beast that is my mind with alcohol and distraction.

And sometimes it isnt enough.

When I cant crawl in the bottle fast enough. And the Fire rises, the passion erupts- and Sitting here- with nothing better to do, I start ...

And so I use my last weapon against myself- my memory- and I pour those memories on the fire that is my desire...

I think back- to all those fucked up things= all that craziness. And its so addictive, the madness of that time- such a life of excess and immediate gratification. The violence, outwards AND inwards. The self-hate, the misanthropy, the lust for the destruction of the world itself.

And I struggle to focus on those hateful memories, to draw those blurry images back into Focus- in order to make myself remember, AGAIN, how worthless that life was- damn the excitement that surrounded it.

on the odd nights like this, when I search so eagerly for destruction- to others, to myself, dont really fucking matter- its very hard to keep myself in this one place, where I dont fuck up anything.

But, I'm writing, and these words are my last refuge.