I drank far too much this weekend. Play it off as a social norm – an attempt to be “one of the crew” – or just to fit in. Whatever convenient excuses you like to give it, I realized last night – in a haze of gin and second hand cigarette smoke – that I actually don’t enjoy being drunk.
So I pondered and people watched and contemplated.
I’ve spent the last five years of my life performing to drunk people, and marveling at how ridiculous drunken behaviour can be. As the men and women circle eachother hungrily debating who might be good enough to seduce. As the masses do all they can to make themselves feel validated – appreciated – seen.
So why was I here? Doing the same unhealthy behaviors that I had grown to dislike? And I clicked.
I have a fascination with the unhealthy. I’m so curious about what it is about drug taking that draws people in – what are they running from? Or to? I’m intrigued by the asshole – the arrogant – the sad and the lonely. To make things even stranger; to this day, I think I’ve often confused this fascination with feelings of love and happiness. If you intrigue me, I fall into this web of curiosity and addiction.
No more. I’m putting aside the addictive curiosity and getting back to my own sanity – my balance, my health. I’m kicking the vices to the curb.