Fantadrull, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying About The Abyss (Sort Of).

I had a lovely weekend, the weekend just gone. Really nice. Got out there, saw people, had laughs. Rose early, passed out late. Sang songs and generally made life my bitch, which is quite possibly a phrase you're not really meant to use anymore, but I did. I made it my little bitch. Which is lovely and fulfilling and self affirming and everything, except that I spent most of the time at various stages of drunkenness, chunks of it unconscious and the rest of it either eating or thinking things that are undoubtedly bad for me, or going to end up being bad for me. It was great. I don't regret any of it. I'll do it all again whenever possible and I'll follow up on those self destructive, complicating thoughts at each and every opportunity. Which makes me an unfathomable idiot, right? Right, I hear inside my head, as a creepy choir of agreeing bastards, and yes, it is. But I'm in good company, aren't I. Statement. Because we all seem to relish the stuff guaranteed to destroy us.

I'm currently on what, within the spectrum of my behaviour, can comfortably be described as a health kick. I bought muesli the other week completely out of choice, and, I've been eating it as well. Like, every day. With coconut milk. I don't even know who I am anymore. I've got an exercise regime that I follow pretty strictly, along with a new diet that I more chase around, trying to keep up with. This is partly for medical reasons and partly because I'd quite like to have sex again soon please and, apparently, not being an amorphous prick might help with that. Women prefer well toned, energetic pricks, I'm told. I've been enjoying it as well, because it's all replacing other addictions that really had to go. A nice, new, healthy addiction, because that is definitely a thing. A healthy addiction. However, even though I know what happens if I eat badly - regardless of the fact I'm aware of the cost to my mental health if I get shit faced and lose hours of time - I fucking love it.

So it's Friday night at karaoke, not really being aware of what I'm doing from the moment I arrive and with absolutely no memory of the last 4 hours, including getting home. Brilliant. And definitely totally safe. Saturday struggling through band practice followed by a huge, fatty, absolutely delicious burger and several more pints with excellent people, followed by an evening with other humans, eating crisps and - that's right - having a cider or two. Sunday wasn't too bad. Had a burrito with the Spawn but, honestly, that's because doing much else might have killed me. This all might be fine if my ridiculous brain would let me sleep. But no. In between the mayhem it was storing up things to mull over, or fantasise about, or dread. Or all three at once. Fantadrull. So no rest, which is easier to maintain on a foundation of muesli, carrot sticks and the like, but not sustainable long term. I'll probably give it a go though. 

This probably sounds like I'm more worried than I am. I'm not. I find it quite amusing. We all do it, we all seek the Abyss and when we find it we lean over and go 'look, no hands' for as long as we can.  I wouldn't trust anyone who hadn't, for however brief that moment was. I've slipped a couple of times and that's the terrifying bit. When you stumble and have to grab onto the ledge and haul yourself back up. It takes ages, no one can help you - not really - and once you've felt the toasty warmth licking at your feet, it's quite tempting to pop back down for a visit. I think it's because there's no responsibility down there, literally none, and because being off your tree is really good fun. I do think it's ok to have a long distance relationship with the Abyss, maybe exchange a few letters, have phone sex occasionally. The Abyss is sexy as hell, it's not my fault. In fact, I like to flirt with it as regularly as possible, keeps everything tuned up for the final push and reminds you that it's actually a bit of a cow.

Anyway, That was it really. No insight, no tips. No substance. It was write this or write something much less sensible, guaranteed to blow up in my face. So I won this time Abby (it's a pet name. We're close). See you soon though, yeah x.

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