“And I don’t believe that I’m getting any better…”

I’ve been so busy. So blissfully busy. It helps, so much. Until it abates. Then I’m left with me, trying to entertain myself. Trying to determine a course of action that will make me happy.

What will make me happy? The right food? The right TV show? Movie? Distraction?

Yes, that’s it. Distraction. Distract myself from myself. Hit the bottle; that often works. Until I’ve hit it hard enough that it hits back. It pounds on doors I’ve slammed shut and blasts them open. Then I’m there with that fresh hell… and senses dulled enough that I can’t combat it.

Lose myself in friends. Learn their stories, open myself to their concerns. Shelve myself away and let’s focus on you. Tell me more about you.

But “you” only run so deep; “you” only plumb so far; “you” only tolerate my entertainment for so long. Then it’s me again.

It’s always me. Pushing farther, longer, harder than any other. Prolonging every exchange, every evening, every moment. Prolonging the magic because when it’s over and you’ve gone… then it’s me again.

It’s always me.