In Which I Drink Too Much Wine and Pontificate

I am not a cute drunk.

I’m not usually, actually, drunk.

I just like to drink.

For a little bit, because it is numbing and I like to be numb.

Numb makes boring okay. And being okay is being normal, for all intents and purposes.

I like to pretend to be normal, so I drink wine.

It typically makes me a bit more vocal (if posting/commenting on FaceBook can be considered vocal). It also makes my sense of righteous, in all regards, rear up it’s lovely lioness head (remember: wine), roaring away into the infinite void that is current civilization. Causing no real change, but presenting the concept of such.

I promise myself all the time that I will become the kind of person I know I could be. It’s an empty promise, because the idea that we should have to be any sort of concept or ideal or whatever is ridiculous. We simply are. There is no changing the inevitable. I don’t believe in god, or destiny, yet I do believe that we are defined by a few traits that we just happen to come into this world with. Some of us feel a lot, and dream a lot, but also freeze,and choke, and scream internally a lot. Some of us have a hard time for no reason, so we create reasons, and we suffer and no one knows or cares because we fall into the margins of society by seeming choice, slipping into a nomad state of invisibility brought on by self destruction. So many people live and die every day; the idea of leaving a true impact on this world (in the sense of history) is a concept that leaves one even more empty than ever previously imagined.

We should, however, always hope. Hope that we can be the best kind of version of ourselves. Even when it’s a stupid, pointless hope. Even when we’d rather just crawl up and disappear. Because there are always – ALWAYS – Bright Bits. I am a firm believer in that.

I warned, at the beginning, that I am not a cute drunk.