the corner of a universe

fitting that i should return here on a thursday, seeing as that was the day i was assigned back when this was in full swing. i’m back because, having gotten off facebook, i still want a place to write absent-minded notes to myself.

things don’t change. i read one of my entries (breaking the habit) from a while back, which ran:

the second habit – you know substance abuse? some people might say i’m the most incorrigible alcoholic they know, but i think that’s still not enough to say with certainty that i’m a drinker to the point of abuse… but i think, if i don’t check myself, i’ll find myself there someday. if you keep to your measure that’s all good, but sometimes i find myself drinking just for the sake of it, at first seeking a high, but after that seeking nothing except the drowsy release that transmogrifies my guilt into a laughing subconscious and leaves me utterly damned when i next come to my senses.

that has to go. when i first started (cue the laughter – i don’t know when that is), it was partially because of me being fundamentally uncomfortable socialising. i know that sounds like a stretch since i talk loudest and longest at social events, but it’s dutch courage, really. alcohol is what i go to when i want bravado, wit and the silliness to kill silences with one trite or stupid comment or another. and of course, if it’s all of us drinking, it’s the good ol’ social lubricant theory. alcohol made conversation that much more fun. we could pretend not to care if someone made a silly comment, or we could pretend our comment was not silly, through the hazy camaraderie we could laugh about something up to a point. and at home, if still drunk, i could write, stare at the result, and say ‘it’s not bad’, and hit the post button before it was too late to redeem myself. but now, alcohol as the stream of my consciousness is a raging, surging river. it’s capsized the boat, it stops me cold, it cuts my arguments into shreds, it reduces my words to primal sounds. i try to make new conversation and fail, and so i fall back on my old yarns, about moscow and japan when i’m in singapore, and about tohoku and singapore when i’m in tokyo. it’s slick if you’ve heard it for the first time. after all, those stories go through telling and retelling, and after a while they’re polished beyond recognition. but nowhere in that kind of conversation do you see a lucid mind; it’s just bobbing about with what is the mental equivalent of a life float. and when you do try to muster some kind of conversation, most likely in response to something interesting you hear from your friends, you can’t rise to the occasion. it’s just a lack of knowledge and a slow instinct lending itself to awkward responses, and you save the situation by launching into your spiel again.

and so drinking – it’s got to give, at least for now (i can hear some of my closest friends sniggering in the background – ‘how long will that be? last you did it it didn’t last a week’. well, i don’t know – for as long as it takes for me to get used to the idea of drinking a beer or two and stopping there, without getting irritated or thirsty or both). one day i will go, bottle in hand, to the ball game, or i’ll be nursing it in the company of good friends, and i won’t feel the need to spend half my time spinning the latest yarn and the other half gulping liquid fire. i’ll be at ease with myself. mightn’t be comfortable with the fact that i’m still prone to silly gaffes and stupid responses, but you know, won’t feel the need to atone for it. perhaps facebook and alcohol share something in that they’re stages for me to do my song-and-dance routine, a smile and a wave, a retiring behind the curtains only to come out again seeking the next encore. that’s probably an intensely stupid analogy. but the message remains the same: i’m breaking the habit.

and re-reading it again, it’s mortifying that i haven’t changed a single bit. i’m still the same yarn-spinner, still the same person pontificating, still the person who can hold forth as long as he wants between the fourth and the ninth pint. the kennedy school has not helped; but then again, i have not helped myself either.

writing will occur sporadically on this website, quietly.