I've got a bunch of things to say, actually, but many will go unsaid.
When you've flirted with self-destruction as deeply and often as I have, it gets to be oddly like an addiction. Consider the recovering heroin addict who sees the world in "Junkie-o-vision" and has a constant itching in the back of their head that says "YOU WANT SMACK! YOU WANT SMACK!" In a similar vein, think of the alcoholic who, no matter how many meetings he attends, wants nothing more than to crawl inside a bottle never to return. Self-destruction-generally defined here as actions one undertakes that would be harmful to one's body, professional standing, mental health, social status, etc.-works (for me at least) in much the same way; there are long patches of time each day where the only thing that stops me from punching through a window or quitting a job or telling a friend "fuck you and everybody who looks like you" is a sense of self-control. I can control my desire for self-destruction. I can. I CAN.
The questions that linger are these: for just how long can I control myself? And what happens when I no longer can?
All I have for now is my grip.
On a totally different subject, if you're reading this on Wednesday, send Happy Birthday e-mails to Kathy Stanek. Especially if you don't know her.
Today's Link Of The Day is a little something to remind you that anti-U.S. sentiment isn't rally something new. http://www.fecundswamp.net/~hatridge/stamps/
6/19/2002 2:21 AM