Still not-drunk

The previous post continued....

Last night I engaged in two other actions that are perfectly normal for me when drunk, but very odd for being sober. Again, I had nothing to drink.

The first action was putting out a fire. One of my neighbors thought it a good idea to burn leaves in a barrel behind the apartment. He then thought it an even better idea to leave it unattended. So I knocked on the door to ask him to put it out. When I got no answer, I circled to the back, found a hose and put it out myself. For me, normal behavior would have been to fume and do nothing.

The second action was throwing out a CD. It was part of the CD of the Month club from KRCL some years ago. It came up in rotation to play and, halfway into the first track, I said, "This really sucks." I then pulled it out of the player and tossed it. I NEVER just throw out CDs.

The second action relates to a topic that has been gestating lately: the "Tyranny of Stuff". But that is another post.

(Oh yeah....and I have been losing weight. Again - I have no idea how or why, I just am. How odd.)

All the fun of being drunk

I think something was dislodged in my psyche somewhere in the last few weeks. I have departed from my normal routine and I am acting drunk.

In normal headspace, I am what the comic refers to as "The Button Down Mind." I have lists and schedules and routines that dominate my life. I maintain a list of my lists (not really, but it sounds good). Several years ago, the lists came into being as tools that helped to focus me. But, over time, the lists took on lives of their own. They began so suffocate me. I found myself thrashing (in the computer hard drive meaning of the term). I spent more time being locked into the meaningless - shuffling things from list to list, or agonizing over the priorities - and I wasn't actually getting anything done.

(Damn, that sounds horrible. Was it really that bad? I don't know. I will ask myself again in a few months.)

About a week ago, I came home, looked at the state of my living space, and just got pissed off. Since then, I have been ignoring the lists. Instead, I have been applying my energies to the things that catch my eye (or my brain) and say, "Yes. We have been pissing you off. You hate us and you want us to change."

This is not a new behavior for me. But it is a behavior that I normally engage in only when slightly drunk - just drunk enough to lower my inhibitions a bit, but not drunk enough to achieve apathy. (Hmmmm..... "Achieve Apathy". Fits right in there with "Military Intelligence", "Religious Right", etc.)

It feels good.

Where ARE those damned saucers?????

Another X-Day comes and the saucers don’t show up again. How long must we wait? I'm going to have a word with Rev. Stang about this...

Purification. The Tao offers no resistance. The way is easy to travel. (…or something like that. It was sitting under the tomb at Gnostic mass last weekend, when I was priest.)

Life has just become too hard. In many areas, between where I am and where I want to be, I can see no path. Or, if I see a path, it seems to be filled with obstacles or restrictions. But there is something in my head that tells me this reality that lives only in my head. The paths are all there, and they are all broad and easy. I just refuse to see them. I suppose this is made worse by related facts: I want too much; I can’t focus on one thing to completion; I mourn over things not done; I dither and wallow in indecision; I have begun to overuse semi-colons in my writing.

In June I set goals for working out and for spiritual practice. About 1/3 of the way through the month, it all fall apart. Worse, I lost ground. Too much alcohol and self pity. Approaching Gnostic Mass last weekend, I realized I was fighting it too hard. I was gritting my teeth and tensing up and being the worst sort of mammal in my reactions. I remembered, for the hundredth time, that it just doesn’t have to be so hard.

Aside – I am listening to Speaking of Faith. It is a rebroadcast of the role of play in life. I remember my last conversation with friend in which I was accused, not for the first time, of not knowing how to have fun. It fits the theme of loosening the hell up.

I will choose two things that must happen, two that should happen, and two that would be nice to happen. Then I will, when I find myself acting or thinking counter to these things, speak to myself a word, phrase or sentence that will set my course back in line with my will.

1. Must – No alcohol.
2. Should – No overeating.
3. Nice – Clean my surroundings.
4. Should – Learn the O.T.O. first degree.
5. Nice – Establish daily practice.
6. Must – Stop dithering.

It was interesting making that list. I wrote the six items first, then I went back and assigned the priorities. Setting priorities was much more challenging than creating the list. There is a tension between what my emotions tell me to do and what my brain tells me to do. In essence, if the two ‘Must’ items are done, a great door is opened to the other items. I will make up the words or phrases to set my focus as I go along. One word about the alcohol: It is there mainly because when I drink just one beer - even a Utah, mass market, 3.2 percent beer - my focus goes all to hell, and I spend the rest of the day wandering around accomplishing nothing.

“It is tough when you conclude that you just don’t have the resources to take care of something, especially something you care about, and you have to just walk away from it.” I said something like that to a friend as she was telling me about Jaimie, the dog that went to California with the 'real owner'. She knew the dog would be neglected, but needed to let her go anyway. After the conversation ended, I realized it also applies to me and some of the things and people I have been putting energy into. It was most painful when thinking of Holly and Beverly. All of the progress we made in the last few years cleaning the house has been buried under new piles of junk and kruft.

Gnostic Mass last weekend. It was good mass with good energy.

Tear it all apart...

I've been tearing things apart lately.

Melinda moved all of her stuff into my basement for the summer. My god, how much stuff does a college student need? I needed to make room for it so I started - naturally - at the opposite end of the house. I realized the messes in all the rooms are so connected and dense, that I knew I needed to start cleaning there in order for the bit of open space to roll through the house and make a place for her shit. So I tore certain parts of the house apart, and her stuff is in place. Now I get to put the other rooms back together.

A project at work was being a bit vexing, so I tore it apart. Killed the old tools - burning bridges is great incentive to move forward - then scrapped my day to day duties to make room for it. So far, so good. It will all be in place and beautiful by noon tomorrow. Just in time for the end of the fiscal year.

The eave rebuilding project at Kat's - now on summer number four - is 5 sessions from ending. To make that happen, I tore apart my workout and reading schedules. It sill be done next weekend, then I can turn my attention to repairing concrete and mortar. Long story.

I am tearing apart my alcohol habit. I live in a county that is dry on Sundays. This is a good thing, even though I want a beer so bad I could scream. But I am enjoy knowing that I will be alert and able to work every morning, so I think I'll stay dry for a while.

I am weening myself from Caffeine. Some mountains (booze) are best descended by jumping the cliff. Others (coffee) are best dealt with via a gentle sloping path. Just ask Heather.

Beastalon!!!!!!!

Last night was the Beastalon fundraising dinner at the Sun and Moon café up Emigration Canyon. Fun party. The after party party was pretty good too.

I was the first to arrive - of course - and had to wait a while for the crew to show up. Dave showed up with his mother. I invited her to sit with me and share a bit of wine. Then she ended up spending the entire dinner with me, and we had a fabulous conversation. I really don't think the dinner could have turned out much better for me. I also had Dave pull me aside and extend a thank-you. He feared his mom wouldn't find anyone to connect with and would spend the evening being the odd person out. I saved her from that fate, and Dave was grateful. From what Jesse had to say, she thought the whole thing turned out pretty nice herself. But looking at it from the view of the cynic, I would wryly observe that is was very convenient to have the old people off in a corner, taking care of themselves, and not bothering the youngsters.

As the evening wound down, I got sucked into a conversation with a few folk. It was pretty good. Eventually, they decided to take the conversation to one of their homes (can't remember the name of the couple). I accepted and presently found myself in a second story flat above the capitol with a gorgeous view of the valley. In short order the conversation divided into the bedroom gathering and the living room gathering. The former got off to a good (?) start by pulling up a bestiality web site and taking a few hits of the sweet stuff. They later devolved into a Terrence McKenna video, strobe lights and the computer having a screen saver that was a slideshow of naughty pictures of the Lady of the House. It was a bit disconcerting to view soft porn while sitting next to the model.

The living room conversation was more to my liking and that is where I ended up. Our drug of choice was wine and the conversation was over Nuit and the idea of there being None, then Two, but no such thing as the One. Once there is something to define itself as the One, then everything outside of the One must be Other, therefore Two. "For I am divided for Love's sake, for the chance of Union."

But, alas, the living room crowd dissolved when a few key people went home. After a while with the Bedroom crowd, sobering up, I went home. But even with the bedroom crowd, it was a fun evening all around. Once again, I felt like I belonged, like I didn't have to force anything or make pretenses or put up fronts.

Ben Stein (argh)

There is this problem. You think you have it all figured then some kike on a website starts rocking your boat. Ben Stein, in an article on his website, shows that he just doesn't get the "Bush Lied – Saddam didn't have fuck to do with 9-11" thing. But then he recounts some of the atrocities that Saddam forced on his people. Then I have to re-evaluate. As fucked up as our presence in Iraq is, maybe things really could be worse. (But then how do you balance the few people no longer subjected to extreme torture against the thousands now being subjected to the current disruptions – or the few being killed by the Islamaniacs – or the odd US Marine who takes his angst out on a wounded man in a mosque.)

I went to Steamers, hoping to find a quiet corner to crawl into. But there was a concert starting and the place was packed. I ran into a friend at the door and she extended a last minute invitation to her birthday party. I was flattered she would ask, but declined. My choice had everything to do with needing to get some sleep and already having enough to drink. She said she would have invited me sooner, but knew about my problems with booze. I tried to explain she was making assumptions. She does that a lot. There was another conversation where I had to stop her and explain that she had filled in gaps with assumption. Do I need to sit her down and have the talk with her about close hole, open ears, stop filling in gaps? We all do it. Mea culpa, but not quite so mea as her culpa.

Ring around the Moon

"If I looked for my glasses in the morning in the way that most seekers search for god, I would stumble around half blind all day." – Dr. A. W. Tozer

The ritual Thursday night was interesting. It looks like the group might be worth hanging with , even if it is full of young crazy people with way too many addictions and hang-ups. (Maybe they are just normal, but less occult – if I may use the word – in their shortcomings).

Once enough of the gang arrived at Steamers, I was recruited to play taxi. I dropped one kid off in east Provo, then it was to Geneva road near UVSC. On the ride there was a kid in the front seat who reminds me of Rick before he joined the army. He was wearing a black trench coat that I was jealous as hell of. He is...interesting. I find that the more I know him the less he reminds me of Rick in look, sound and mannerism, but more in dress habit and attitude. Does this make sense? Then there was the drunk chick in the back seat, whose name I didn't know at the time. She comes back into the story later. She was drunk. All the way over, she was going on about here addictions and problems, talking to no one in particular. I smiled at the part about "I don't need a man...I can just masturbate to get an orgasm..." I am thinking to myself that it was certain she would get laid within 12 hours, maybe with someone whose name she didn't even know.

It was at Emily's house (Emily being the Coffee Goddess in Harem pants from a previous post). She had one room of a house being shared by a rather wild bunch of people, connected with the coffee shop and with the smoke shop next door. It was a party house, which ended up being sort of a bad thing in the long run. The ritual was in Emily's room, which made for cramped quarters. Casting the circle had the HP calling the quarters while the rest of repeated a goddess chant. Then a reading or sermon of sorts, then a wine ritual, stating our personal wishes, our wishes for the Coven, then combining those wishes to a single container then separating them back out and consuming them. My wishes? For myself, it was to control some issues with alcohol and to find focus (more on these later). For the Coven, my stated desire was that it simply endure. The only hitch was the drunk chick – she was a bit of a distraction, but seemed to do a fair amount of sobering up for circle – she went from full blown slosh, the "Weebles Wobble..."

But then there was after ritual. The habit of the group is to gather with the others who live in the place and get drunk, smoke a bowl, etc. I stayed for a little of the drinking part (watching, not drinking) and followed the crowd outside when it was time to smoke (cigarettes). Then someone pointed to the sky and said, "Look at the ring around the moon." Remember past journal entries about rings around the moon? Well this one was as big and as bright as any of those I've seen before. One of the people looking at it was Drunk Chick. Well Drunk Chick decided she needed a hug. From me. A very long hug, complete with pulling my head down on her shoulder. Then after a short breather, she needed another hug. Fuck.

So here is Andy building his emotional walls, digging moats and laying mine fields, then this little girl makes an assault on it. I talked to another attendee later, in a sort a "What the fuck was that?" conversation and found that Drunk Chick didn't mean anything by it, and that if there was a problem with it I could just tell her straight up what I expected and it would be cool.

Before I went to ritual I made up my mind that the Monkey Boy member of my inner committee would be banished I wouldn't allow myself to let the "Sex Thing" have a place in my thoughts. I also did a general banishing of ego, feeling it wise to play a suitably small and proper role in the ritual. I succeeded. I was proud of myself. Then the drunk chick thing happens, pulling me out of that zone, dangling forbidden fruit in front of Monkey Boy, and bringing to the surface all that I had tried to banish.

I'm sure it will all turn out well. Nevertheless, there is a part of me that wonders what would have happened if I had taken advantage of the situation – how far I could have gotten in getting her to bed. Maybe the 'big change' indicated by the circle around the moon was that I would finally 'get it' and keep Monkey Boy in his place. [Six weeks later, this seems to be true. Proper decorum has been maintained, Drunk Chick acts a bit uncomfortable around me, but I'm trying my best to put her at ease. It is good, but Monkey Boy resents not getting laid or at the very least nuzzled a bit.]

My wish with the Alcohol was nothing so foolish as to stop drinking. entirely At this time it is neither desired nor proper (not to mention doable). Instead, it is to draw a few lines to keep the booze from screwing up a few of my ambitions. For example, as I write this I've had a little Sherry and I'm going to have some more right now. [yum] But I have kept to my goals so far this evening, and I committed during gnosis earlier this evening to keep to my goals (one of them being to catch up on my journal entries). The problem comes when there is no gnosis or other resolve, then I indulge in overeating or ignoring my goals. In the last few months I've gained back at least 5 pounds and fallen behind on a number of personal projects, small and large. As for focus, that is an ongoing thing. I'll make up my mind what I want to do (which is better than the land of indecision where I usually live) but then piss away my efforts with diversions and distractions. Focus.

(But what is focus really? Am I just focusing on more finely defined distractions? The questioner strikes again.)

Gnosis. More accurately it is Sexual Gnosis. [Details redacted]

Go North, young man

The drive home was another straight shot. It must have been a real prize winner if the quick notes I wrote about it amounted to this:

Adventures of the pee cup. All the way to Cove Fort on a tank. Beer in Page (Oak Creek Nut Brown Ale).

The "Adventure" was that it was full, tipped over, and soaked one side of my hat. Dang. But it dried out and I started wearing it the next day. No need to wash it (snicker, chortle).

One of the more disgusting moments was suffering "Coffee Shock" at Cove Fort. I stopped for fuel and caffeine. A few miles down the road, after it had cooled a bit, I took a snort of the coffee. It was such a rude shock. After a full week of good coffee, to suddenly partake of the dull and the weak was almost more than I could take. I choked it down, but it wasn't fun. The stuff I drink during the week at work may just be Folgers, but at least it is brewed strong enough to keep the hair on my nads healthy and thick. When I got home there was a cute little red car in the driveway that hadn't been there before. Midway through the week Kathleen called to talk about Melinda then mentioned that she had –oops- purchased a car. This was no surprise in itself, because I knew she was looking.

I also arrived to find the house torn apart and Kathleen stripping glue and gunk from the walls and ceilings in the living room. No sooner had I finished unpacking than I got to help put the house back together. Some time during the evening I posed the question to Kate: If the beer I was drinking was made in Sedona, does it get you 1)drunk, 2)new age woozy, or 3)brain cells move out due to increased property values.