Sunday, September 8, 2013


Hullo, Blog.  Today is day 4 of sobriety and so far my overwhelming emotion is one of intense ennui.

 It tires you out, like treading water.

Last weekend was magnificent, Blog, and for just a few days the world was a shiny Christmas bauble, rotating slowly on a pine street, reflecting a cozy fire in the hearth.  I wish I could go more into it but I won't because there are some things I just can't write on a public blog.  But since then things had been going well and I felt ready to tackle this detox thing, but now I'm discovering there are too many hours in the day and I'm so intensely bored.  I put together a terrarium yesterday with Jack.  My life seems sterile, like a play I'm acting in, where nothing really matters because it's all pretend and make-believe.  I think I need to talk to someone or maybe just get a second job to occupy my time.  Maybe things will get better the longer I'm sober, but so far they haven't.  So far, I'm just reminded why I drink, because I'm bored, and when I drink, colour seeps back into the world, if only for a little while.  Mind you, Blog, I'm not sad, just tired and... well, bored.  But it's a weary boredom, not a nothing-to-do boredom so much as a why-bother-doing boredom.

On Tuesday I made a new friend.  Anita was supposed to come over this weekend but didn't.  Anita, Jay, Jack, Andrew, and I went camping about two weeks ago.

I don't understand how a person can go through all the motions of being happy and still feel so empty.  I have a very supportive pair of friends (Jack and Andy), a nice home; I'm financially secure; I have a job I love, a car, hobbies, so on and so forth, but I still feel so hollow, as if you might find a ribbon on me and discovered I'm a laced-up doll with nothing at all inside, cheaply manufactured and inanimate.  Last weekend I felt alive.  Now I don't again.  Sometimes I think I know what's missing and I feel like it's so distant and unattainable I can't do anything but type emo blog posts about it.

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