Wise man said, only fools rush in

I know pretty much next to nothing about love. I know even less about relationships. I kind of want to blame my parents but that would be misplaced as they have celebrated over 25 years of marriage together. However I can count on one hand the number of serious or steady relationships that I have been in, and even less digits represent the amount of times I’ve ever been legitimately and hopelessly in love. Or have loved?

These stupid phrases are all a question of semantics. In love. I love you. I love you too. Falling for you. Aargh, damn Shakespeare.

I’ve been googling what love is…, and some I say yes, some I say no. It’s the hardest thing in the world to process and analyse what love is- something so illogical that has such a profound impact on you.

I recognise in myself a certain pattern. Girl meets guy/girl. Girl gets excited and delves into it. Girl senses partner is serious and decides to either flee or fight for the relationship… more often than not to flee. When Girl chooses to stay, insecurity still exists and issues are created, whether consciously or unconsciously forcing girl to leave anyway in search of something better or a fresh start.

It’s hard for me to identify when things go wrong in a relationship, however I recognise that there are only extremes when it comes to myself and my love life. Really good or really bad. I’ve never had a relationship that was just meh… sure I became bored, but there was always a point where I was actively attempting to destroy it or strengthen it.

I know I have the ability to make someone feel most special and beloved, and on the other end of the spectrum be completely cold. I demand affection and then feel repelled and smothered by displays of love.

Blame my family?

I can’t believe that negative dynamics in the role between parent and child have affected my ability to love and commit to someone. My parents are very lovey-dovey, and not cold towards each other. I surely didn’t inherit my behaviour from them. They have remained monogamous and steadfast in their commitment to each other while I am inconsistent in the fidelity department.

Blame the voices in my head?

I won’t lie, my inner critic is a monster. Terrorising me yet creating a wall of arrogant protection around my heart. The voice demands perfection from people, unreasonable expectations and unwilling to compromise in love. No one is good enough for me, everyone is temporary until I find something better. It’s distasteful to admit that my mind has forced me into a state of expected perfection in all realms of my life. I used to have low-self-confidence, but now this new found arrogance and assertiveness has me feeling guilty for the way I think, humiliated by what I believe I deserve.

I am surprised to find how desperately I crave love, and I throw myself into one relationship after another fearing being alone. However I have never felt more alone in a relationship than when I am truly alone.

brainPhilophobia?

I am someone who values and is yearning more and more for stability and commitment, so how does it make sense that I fear love?

Vulnerability and taking a risk with our hearts is beyond frightening. And why? Because people suck and are hurtful and are more used to causing pain and destruction. However isn’t it then irrational that we pursue love knowing the hurt it will cause? Even when we swear off love, it’s only a temporary promise to keep our heart chaste.

Love is also unequal. There is always the one who cares too much and the one who doesn’t care enough is the one who has the most power. Feelings are also static, they evolve and devolve which could cause hurt and rejection along the way. How can we love, but be angered and irritated by someone we love. Why is the heart such a wishy washy organ?

gemini

Don’t blame me I’m a Gemini?

It makes me feel better that astrologists recognise that the Gemini sign is one of the most misunderstood of the zodiac.

So I lack consistency?… but there is no such thing as a constant emotion. We are not robots, so why would someone expect me to churn out a standard sort of feeling towards them.

Superficial… that doesn’t make sense when we over analyse things to death and weigh all the options. Having a very long list and high expectations should be a sign of confidence and knowing what I want…surely…

Lack of decision making ability… yes because I am in two minds and can see both sides of the story.

Lack of Direction… I call BS on that one. I know where I’m going, who’s coming with me? That’s a whole other conversation…

Anxious? Wouldn’t you be if you had so many voices in your head fighting for attention?

How can Mr Right suddenly feel like Mr Wrong?

What is it that changes, and this applies to all relationships? I know I’m asking a lot of questions, but this is where my thought process is going. Perhaps there is no such thing as a Mr Right, but rather Mr Right Now. And it’s something that people should just accept. We can put blame on that.

waiting

The green light

I struggle with seeing people as just people – especially those who I am in relationships. Depending on my mood I will have dallied with Apollo and teased Poseiden, avoided Hades.

Daisy and Gatsby had a wonderful time together. She could create dreams with reckless abandon, a time of youth and wonder and love. Oh Jay is so wonderful and the potential is there, the promise and the hope of a better future… just within reach like that elusive green light.

All the bright precious things fade so fast…and they don’t come back – Daisy Buchanan

gatsby looking

Did Daisy Buchanan ever commit to waiting for Gatsby? Was it a mutual agreement or a non-verbal promise? I don’t think Daisy was flighty… she showed such a deep capacity for love and the need to be loved in return.

b22868cae7761f970005626488c9b23aI am no Daisy but something preoccupy in me is this constant waiting as I weigh the variables.  Daisy always knew that Gatsby was out there but did she know he was fighting for her and even if she did, did that make a difference?  When Daisy met up with Gatsby again, Gatsby didn’t try to take her away from her home, make her leave her husband (until the very end) and her child. He was perfectly content with the image of her she gave him in the few hours they frolicked.  Was Daisy ever Gatsby’s to own and possess and have in his life to treasure?

Even now as I write this there’s a letter in my inbox, an insistent whatsapp on my phone or a phone call I’d rather not take right now. My thoughts are already uneasy. I just need peace and quiet and for all the voices in my head to stop playing the blame game so that I can figure my next move.

I didn’t ask for this to happen. They always say that when you make a plan, God laughs. If I could live my life according to my plans I’d be perfectly happy. Despite my need not to feel tied down, I despise variables. I have so many pathways ahead and no map, not even a sense of direction to a possible positive outcome. It’s hurting me, emotions causing physical exhaustion. Do I wait for a sign? Do I turn back?

bf

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Seeing your face

You’re splashed across my white wall

Everyone is laughing at you – the graffiti is amusing to them as their walls remain untouched – pristine.

It is easy for my neighbours to sit on their patios and feel chuffed that they are not affected by the evil. To them, this a moment to sip green tea and revel in the thoughts that their lives are better.

I had painted over you a while back – completely whitewashing you from my memory. However when the sun would set it’s piercing gaze upon the wall, I’d sometimes see flashes of your stains seeping through the white coat.

As I ready my paintbrush. I wander how many other walls you have stained in an effort to get what you want. In an effort to be seen and acknowledged in a certain way.

Now you are hiding from the world. I’m sure you must be wishing your atrocious colours weren’t shining so brightly. People will find you and know you for what you are. A liar and a cheat. But I can’t revel in your demise – in this you are only hurting yourself with no remorse for others you have hurt too. The only thing I can be thankful for is that karma has finally caught up to you.

My goddess can be vengeful and I hope she fairly avenges me for everything you’ve done.

But for now, I need to get on with painting my wall white again.

Say it. Mean it. Don’t run from it.

I was nervous. I must have changed my outfit a good 5 or 6 times. I don’t know why my friends had decided to pick this party of all the usual turn ups that we’d normally go to. Crop top and skirt. No it doesn’t match. Crop top and shorts – I’m trying too hard. Crop top and jeans, why am I wearing a crop top at all? I ended up getting so frustrated and just put on what I’d been wearing the whole day. Just before I left, I grabbed his ring which sat on my dresser. Obviously it was to return it, but there was no harm in wearing it tonight.

I didn’t want to think about seeing him there. I didn’t want to think about why I cared what I looked like. I distracted myself on the drive to the party with wonderfully misogynistic hip hop which spoke to my soul about bad bitches and twerking. Arriving at the party, I was immediately put at ease when I saw that he and our mutual friend hadn’t arrived yet. The atmosphere was incredible and I ran into so many old friends, colleagues and of course my closest mates. I then realised however, that as it got later into the afternoon, I was bound to run into him. There was only one answer – tequilla.

Back in forth I went, with a new friend each time grabbing a shot. It didn’t mean anything – I just wanted to have a good time. Beer. Tequilla. Beer. Tequilla. Oh this was fun. There were plenty of cute boys eyeing me – it was easy to paste on a friendly smile, but before anyone of them could get to comfortable, I found a reason to excuse myself. Just as the sun was sitting, my friend had arrived. I immediately started looking for Bugz, standing on my tip toes and searching for that trade mark bun. I spotted her and hurried over, she was standing by the bar and jumped on her giving her the hugest hugs. We were gushing over each other and giggling and hugging, and as I pulled away I realised he was standing there.

He looked so good – I was thrown by that. Why wasn’t he a mess? Why didn’t he look as miserable or as nervous as I felt? I felt time slow down as I was trying to process this. There was definitely an uneasy feeling between us, as I leaned in for an awkward hug. I could smell his woody scent, I could feel he had been working out. I thought I’d feel nothing after these 3 weeks, but everything was sensed at that moment. I wanted him. And I had thrown it all away.

This wasn’t going to work – I couldn’t be in his presence. I wasn’t ready. Due to my level of intoxication there were only a few ways that could go… I act crazy and embarrass myself, throw myself at him and look like a fool or do what I usually do and run. I tried to find my friends, but they were all busy with their respective hook ups.  I found myself returning to Bugz and him, the sun was setting and I was barely listening to Bugz as our eyes kept catching each other’s attention and starting. There were no smiles. Just stares.

We decided to dance, however that misogynistic hip hop I was listening to earlier had no appeal. I couldn’t dance ratchet when less than a metre away stood  a guy I shared Ella Fitzgerald and Common and Flight Facilities with. I ended up uncomfortably shifting my weight from side to side and watching him out of the corner of my eye.

He was drinking a lot- and he wasn’t a big drinker. What was that, his 6th or 7th beer? His 5th smoke? I didn’t like it, but who was I to like it or not? It was about this time that he and I were vying for Bugz attention, using her like spy to recon on eachother. What did he say? How is he? Poor girl, caught up in all of this.

It was time to check in with my other group of friends, and I left but they had disappeared somewhere so I was forced to return to Bugz and him again. However he was talking to a girl – she was beautiful, about my height but all smiles and flawless skin. He looked happy, his arms were on her shoulders and they were laughing. I walked away. This was not good – I didn’t want to see him happy, especially with someone else. My friends were teasing me earlier in the day about how I could look so miserable when I was the one who had put an end to things, how could I be so emotional over someone who I had only been with for 2 months. These were the questions I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about, I was supposed to be having fun – clearly he was.

No, I had to go back. We were all going to have shots, but I really shouldn’t drink anymore. I suggested a selfie instead. One of my friends grabbed my phone and aimed the screen at our group.

My heart stopped.

I watched as my reflection watched stunned at the left of the screen where he was kissing that smiling girl on the cheek. That smiling girl wasn’t me. But everything about that pose and that kiss was mine, well it was supposed to be mine. We used to take pics like that all the time, with his head resting on my shoulder, and me (well her now) beaming with so much excitement. I locked eyes with him through the screen – I saw his surprise. I knew that he hadn’t realised I was there. Selfie moment over I grabbed my phone and knew I had to get away. There was just so much pain and confusion over how I was feeling. Why was I feeling this way?

He reached out to grab me but I pulled away angrily. Bugz tried to call me back but I had yelled something about needing to get out of here right now. But to where? This party was in the middle of no where, I didn’t know where my friends were. Drinking again seemed like the only option. I took the long way round back to the bar, and stood in the queue. He appeared suddenly next to me, and I turned my head to the side, foolishly hoping he wouldn’t see me. We were close to each other, I couldn’t exactly hide.

“So you’re not going to talk to me?” … I can’t remember my reply, all I remember is wanting to hurl accusations, shout at him, hit at his chest, ignore him, hug him, kiss him, hold him. Say I’m sorry. I ordered us two tequillas and then lead him to a quiet dark place to sit and talk.

He said a lot, he said so much and he said all the right things. Things that scared me, things that made me run in the first place.  I had a decision to make, flight or fight. In all that confusion, I started crying – which I hated myself for. Because I wasn’t crying in a moment of weakness but because I had achieved a moment of clarity. That I wanted, this that I wanted him. He was enough and worth the risk to make me stay.

Somewhere between the tears and the hugs and the kisses I said it, but he didn’t hear me. That was okay, I was saying it more for myself more than anything. But was we left, I said it again for us now.

And after that night, I knew I would never run again.

Avarice

Are we wired as human beings to want what we can’t have? And is this greed or something else?

I’ve always been a restless spirit – competitive, ambitious and a dreamer. I was never satisfied, and achievement didn’t satiate me but only increased the cravings for more. Even know as I sit and reflect on my accomplishments, while I don’t dismiss them – I’m left with a feeling that there has to be something else that can be achieved. There has to be something else to conquer.

I’ve been given so much already, blessed with a wonderful life and an impressive future. Yet is this the feeling that awaits me – a yearning that I will never truly rest easy until the grave as my ambition drags me through the rest of my life.

I’ve been spoilt, given a lot of things I didn’t necessarily ask for, but that have made themselves available for my pleasure. Yet it is so easy for me to diminish that to mere indifference. Why? Because I haven’t worked for it, it was too easy, I wasn’t challenged – these are just some of the excuses I tell myself. I don’t humbly decline these offerings, I accept them and enjoy the fruits of my lack of labour.

I only seem to respect myself if I have to fight for something – and that something has to be worthy of my life and my plans. When did we start striving for the unattainable? It seems that the more complicated and impossible the challenge, the more I want it and need to make it happen for myself. Is this greed? Do I genuinely want this goal because of my passion and emotional connection to it or is it because it challenges me and doesn’t make my life easier? Does it make me ungrateful to dismiss those offerings for something that in itself is nothing more than an idea, not concrete reality. A childish fantasy, if you will. La douleur equise. 

Those who offer me everything on a silver platter end up hurt – because seem to ungratefully dismiss their pledge to my happiness for something that isn’t guaranteed. There seem to be always ramifications for going after what you want.

I don’t think it is right to live in fear of not setting out to achieve something. But I don’t want to be so consumed with want, that I am a complete hedon either.

From Adam to the Gods… I’ve walked side by side with all

I have been travelling a very long time – but my gait wasn’t always so laboured, my strength so forced. I’ve been thinking a lot about how I’ve come to be here, but the story is sketchy, parts distinguished only by those who I  happened to be travelling and who helped or hindered me along the way. It’s not a love story, it’s not a parable, it’s an account from my extremely subjective point of view.

It is about how I wound up, walking through their Inferno. 

“Banish me from Eden when you will; but first let me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge!” – Robert G. Ingersoll, The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll, Vol. Iii

Every Eve has an Adam- not necessarily her first but her genesis into a new story. Adam didn’t want me at first. Story of every girl’s life, there was another. But I befriended him and drew him in and eventually he was mine. Or so I thought. You see, Adam had a few issues. It could have been his one-rib-less inadequacy but Adam would blow hot and cold. I became his everything and with that, my behaviour was dictated to me, our ever-lasting planned. I put up with it, I mean my experience with men was minimal, him being the only one on Earth and everything, so I figured this overbearing nature was normal. But I always wondered what lay beyond the garden… surely there was more to my life than a luxurious episode of Survivor.

I went for a walk, near the edge of garden. I hadn’t travelled so far before but what I saw amazed me. So many paths were available to me, that diverged and intertwined and separated again. Paths that were far from the nicely laid out walkways that I was used to. The path abruptly ended, leading me towards a large tree. It was so massive, I couldn’t see around it. The branches too high, I didn’t dare climb it.

The wind rustled and shook the branches. I watched a gloriously red, shiny apple drop down from the bough. It hit the grass with a gentle thud and rolled away, around the roots of the tree, until I could just see it on the other side. I’d never seen anything like it, it was destined for me. I had to tell him. I ran back to the gardens. Adam sat languidly, admiring his surrounds. His life had not been changed like mine. After much coaxing, I took him back to the tree and tried to show him where the fruit had fallen.

At first he insisted that he could not see it, but after my insistence he began to feign interest. That was when I told him that I wanted to walk around the tree – leave the path,  pick up the fruit and try it. Adam thought me made- how could I leave the comfort of my home for the unknown. I was ungrateful, I traitor. I assured him that it wasn’t like that, that I had to see for myself if there was a better life out there than in here. His hazel eyes were hurt, as he acquiesced to by desire for adventure. Then he suggested that he come with me to see too. I could tell he didn’t want to, that he saw it as an obligation. But that was not why I recoiled and took a step back. This was my apple, I had found it. It was my desire to see the world not his. How dare he think he could share what was so sacredly mine? I realised then that there was no space on my journey for a companion. That day I left the garden, I picked up the fruit but chose not to eat it. Carrying it proudly against my body. I felt naked, but never more alive.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here”

The sign made me chuckle as I walked passed it. It was so sensational. You cannot lose hope from entering the unknown. I was in fact invigorated, hopeful that I was about to learn everything to my hearts desire and live through experiences never before felt.  I revelled in my new found freedom for a while, enjoying my social isolation and surrounding myself with all things beautiful and wonderful.

One night I wandered beneath a full moon- the fragrance are jasmine drugged me and I felt powerful and more like a woman than ever before. As I walked amongst the blooms, I came across a woman picking a stem and smelling with such a radiant look of ecstasy. It was such an intimate act I looked away blushing. I couldn’t help looking back and my eyes met piercing dark brown ones. They looked amused, intense and curiosity. She was so strong, so confident and sure. I’d never seen another woman, a person, the likes of her before. Silently, she offered me her hand and we danced, and danced underneath the moonshine, in a field of jasmine and sharing curious glances.

Her name was Persephone, and she was my guide into the underworld. The sign I had dismissed marked the entrance into hell- into a world unknown, into a cosmos of adventure and mystery. She called me Artemis, even though I told her that was not my name. She said it didn’t matter,  that no one here was who they seemed, but who we wanted to be. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, just different. Artemis, I found out, meant that I was strong, that I couldn’t be touched without permission and that I embraced womanhood and power. I liked that, those were ideals that seemed wise to embrace. From a wanderer I became a warrior, championing crusades with Persephone guiding me all the way. She awakened my thoughts, my questions and drew out within me, my anger at the world, at my confinement and my desire to be free. We met fellow thought leaders, Socrates and Homer, Cicero and Ceasar. I felt welcomed, I belonged to something greater than myself. I had purpose.

Oh she was amazing- so wonderful that I showed her the apple I had been carrying from the beginning. She marvelled at it, as if it was a prize, with such cautious desire. I offered her a bite. She took it. And then she shared it with me. The taste was heavenly. I’d been transported, I ascended over 6 feet – out of body and out of mind.

For much time I stayed with Persephone. However the sense of adventure waned and I begun to feel like I had stayed too long. We made each other so unhappy. She couldn’t leave the limbo we had found ourselves in, and I didn’t know if I could dedicate my life to being stuck in an in-between. Actually I did know, and the answer was that I couldn’t. So I left.

“Curiosity is the lust of the mind” – Thomas Hobbes

I should admit that I had an indiscretion. As I said, purgatory was not for me. During an argument with Persephone, I ran away.

He introduced himself to me as Amun. Amun was strong and funny, full of life with many consorts. He thought himself king of his world and many women agreed. To me he was “the hidden one” who didn’t necessarily provide me answers to what I was seeking, but gave me more questions. He was a friend, and then he was more and he had the power to make me overlook my morals and explore a darkness that I had not thought about before. With a presence that could be described as lion-like, I felt bewitched within his harem. I was a fool for what he could show me, a fool to my body, to touches, to desire. I had joined the harem of Cleopatra and Helen.

But with my actions came with consequences. Persephone discovered that I had entered the second circle and her fury and mistrust came down upon me like a tornado. All the we attempted to mend our relationship, it never reclaimed that wonderful experience that was. My relationship with Amun was never meant to be anything more – we both recognised that. Eventually we became friends, until he felt that ascended to greater things than I. But he will always remain an important reminder of my flaws.

“Curiosity is gluttony. To see is to devour.” – Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

After leaving purgatory, for what I’d decided was the last time, I continued on my travels. The questions that Amun had point in my mind needed answers and for that to happen I had to explore my own darkness and my own ideas of sin.

And when you are open to that, Dionysus will find you. Oh he was everything, everything that was opposite to what I needed. He brought humour to my serious world, boldness to my inhibition. We feasted on selfishness and worldly pleasures. Our gluttonous acts sated my curiosity again and again. It was a wild party everyday with women and men coming together to in a common goal of self-servitude.  We ate until we could eat no more and then ordered seconds. Life was a buffet for our enjoyment and taking. My apple was less shiny but there were those who I wished for them to enjoy in my discovery. Apple pies, toffee apples, sorbet and appletinis – what a feast!

“Greed is a bottomless pit which exhausts the person in an endless effort to satisfy the need without ever reaching satisfaction.” – Erich Fromm

I alternated often between the banquet and another new discovery of a treasure trove. Here Pluto entertained me. We lived lavish lives where those we met were for our entertainment. Even when I thought I was satisfied, it became amusing to make a mockery of those who accidently joined our parties.  It was all in jest – there was no guilt.  But the addiction of needing constant entertainment weighed on us and I found myself pushing further and further the limits that were hardly set in stone in the first place. Lust was mistaken for lust. Enemies were mistaken for friends. But in this whirlpool of false pleasure, it is easy to be mistaken and stray from the path.

Which is what happened. And I will never make that mistake again.

“Now pierced is her virgin zone;
She feels the foe within it.
She hears a broken amorous groan,
The panting lover’s fainting moan,
Just in the happy minute.”  – John Wilmot

I knew him as Hades, he was often spoken about with disdain and no good will. Hades was pleasant to me, not a friend but hardly an enemy either. One night after a banquet, he offered to transport me across the river Styx. In that moment I recognised Hades for what he was, the Devil, Lucifer.

In that rickety wooden boat he took every sinful desire I had been celebrating and used them against me. With greed, lust and gluttony and a certain new anger he took it all away from me- my ability to explore, my curiosity and my hope. There were so many bodies around but no one could or would hear my screams… all inebriated or  sated by their hedonistic lifestyles. When I was throne off the boat, I battled to rise. I dragged myself along the embankment, not quite sure of what to do next, what I was looking for or needed.

“It is dangerous to be right in matters on which the established authorities are wrong.” – Voltaire, The Age of Louis XIV

I fell. I was lost, and I had travelled so far from comfort and from what I knew. No one would believe me if I spoke on what had happened in the 5th circle. I was a heretic – how could a hedonist possibly be telling the truth. There were flames everywhere, licking at my body as kept falling through the darkened tomb.

I committed violent acts to myself, destroying all forms of my identity and relationships in the process.

I met Poseidon and he helped me up and travelled with me for a while. I told him my story and he made me promises about exploring the sea together. But like the change in tide, Poseidon wasn’t there to stay long – betrayal never stops hurting.

Apollo swoops in and out of my life but he is honest about where he is at and how he wants to explore and discover greatness on his own.

I’m not sure why I felt I needed to put down my journey… maybe its because I’ve travelled so far, the only way to turn is back. Maybe it’s because I’m not sure which pathway I’m supposed to take next. Or maybe it’s because it’s time to rest for a while. I’m tired…so tired…

I shall not fear no man but God, though I walk through the valley of death, I shed so many tears (if I should die before I wake), please God walk with me.

27/10/2014 02:00

To see the world in multi colour

that’s special

the red and the purple and all the hues

makes my world unforgettable

I’m flying high above the arch

wishing my wings were the ones to take me higher

with all the fire

inside of me

not us not we

recognising that all I see

Infinitely

Has no answers, questions or perfect

summation about me

breathing, crying, sighing

avoiding all that lying

about what I feel

No time to heal

Baby please conceal the fact that I’m hurting too

The Break: S01E02

Today had all the numbness of a Linken Park song. Waking up felt like what I’d imagine would be coming to conscious after a bomb blast. Everything was silent, the air was cloudy and my body struggled to lift itself up.

At least I didn’t look like reality had smacked me up nicely.  Tired yes, but a lot stronger than I felt yesterday.  I was shocked, worried that the pain had disappeared so quickly.  But no, it lurked behind my eyes,  a deep weight upon my chest.

Music was on my side as I drove to work. Switching on the radio to hear:

“‘Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections

And I realised that I didn’t need to scramble for a wadded up kleenex. I could appreciate that love still existed, and thanks to John Legend I didn’t need to start my day off angry or depressed.

Song two and three were pretty great, Sara Bareilles’ Brave and Katy Perry’s Roar reminding me that I can be heartbroken but still kick ass too… which I did today.

I got through 24 hours without speaking to him. Although I did set up a column to stalk his tweets and I reread his last two messages to me over a hundred times. I knew this wouldn’t be easy.

And so maybe I carried around a water bottle of vodka and lemonade. If I had the opportunity to take a personal day, I would’ve.  They just have to deal with my functional alcoholism.

But awesome news for those of you who are genuinely concerned, I don’t need wine to help me sleep tonight.

So keeps the end of day 2…

Serenity. Courage.  Wisdom.