I’ve had a number of addictive behaviors in the past that I’m ready to break alignment with. Women. I was raised by three women. A mom and two sisters, an abscent alcoholic dad and a lost alcoholic brother. The men in my life have let me down over and over. Women have represented my salvation. I know that is no longer true. I’m not giving up women, I’m giving up the idea of THE WOMAN.
I’m also interested in a woman who lights up in pursuit of me as well. I’m always the circus barker, guiding entertainment, danger, and fun. I’d like a woman with a bit of leadership and her own sense of what she wants. *NEXT* In life.
I had a very short stint with cocaine while in college. A customer’s wife gave me the cellophane wrapper from her cigarettes filled with my first taste of coke. This was no ordinary variety. This was dealer’s coke. Pre-cut. As soon as I left that job and no longer made kamakazis for her and her husband, the dealer, I lost my connection. My attempts to find a new source ended up in mixed results. Poor quality. Laced with speed. And the gay dealer who wanted to jump my bones. I was on his inside circle. Invited to stay for a few rounds. “A taste.” I didn’t want any taste of what he had in mind. Besides, coke makes my cock dead and unmanageable.
I have dabbled in cars. First German. Now Japanese. I don’t care so much about the value of my car or the color. I do like to go fast. I downgraded the last time to a smaller, simpler version. My payment and insurance both went down. I lost my conscious ambition to have an exotic car. My dad loved cars. He gave that illness to his first son, along with an unhealthy affinity for the spirits.
I guess you could say I still collect guitars, but I have three for sale. I have too many guitars. I’m not looking for more guitars, more coke, or more girlfriends. I’m no longer looking.
My poison then? Hmm.
Attention?
I’ve claimed to have little or no desire to be famous. That’s a lie. I would love to try my hand at being adored and stalked by millions. I could deal with it. The odds are long, my runway is shortening daily. And, that too is a poison I will no longer subscribe to.
Therefore I am. I write. I become more each session. Clarification. Retargeting. Refactoring. Reflection. I’ve cultivated a mindfulness approach to most of it. I am still clinging to the desire part. I want a relationship, I will not pine or suffer because I do not have one. I will continue along my path. Loving myself and my behaviors. Moving my chess pieces ahead on the board of life.
My friend’s call, “Monetization!” rings in my ears. It’s time.
I promised him, today, that I would not get hung up on my creative projects until I had solved the scaling issue with the t-shirts and the Happy Cashier. I’ve got to pause my prosaic keyboard stroking for a bit and work on the cash flow.
I once aspired to wealth and travel. Today, I want simplification, a lower burn rate, and more time to be quiet, nap, in addition to create.
My poison, then, at the moment, is my desire for a woman and a lifetime relationship. I’ll give it a rest and see if she comes looking for me. I’m happy single. Happy with my time to write, time to pleasure myself, and time to focus on other things. I’m self-sufficient, but not quite self-sustaining. I’m going to work on that before returning to this, here. The book stuff.
