Coffee and Trainwrecks

Yesterday after I got home quite later after spending nearly a day out and about, much with a new friend C,  I felt the sort of frazzled I have long associated with my recently former tendency to binge-party in search of edifying drunken conversation, except the hardest drugs I had yesterday were my first two long blacks in a row in about two weeks and wow, CHANGE.

This is the longest I’ve been off coffee since I can remember, and the buzz I got really made me wonder what I barely noticed was happening to me when I was a three-to-six-cups-a-day guy.

That I had assimilated this kind of over-stimulated mania into my idea of normal being is vaguely disturbing, and an awe inspiring testament to the body’s capacity to just absorb the battering we treat it to daily.

But for how long? When will the really nasty symptoms manifest?

Meanwhile, the motor-mouth maniacal extroversion was nice yesterday, but with that came a sort of anxiety I recall from the hangovers.

As far as awareness of symptoms go, it was positive to notice that the caffeine I filled my hangovers with might have been as bad for me as the hangover itself, but I also noticed that maybe I can extend myself this way, into being outgoing and somewhat more socially strident when I’m sober.

By that I mean I used to chase these experiences at east-coast literature festivals, drinking with people with whom, drunk, I could reach extremes of interaction where I was sufficiently free of inhibition that we would sometimes arrive at the sort of outlandish ideas we may never have arrived at if we weren’t loose,

but we only survived those conversations with our relationships (in tact) intact because we were drunk and rubbery enough that when we crashed we didn’t die – we could write off those crazy ideas because we too, at the time, were write offs, shit faced,

like when this time, with C, one of us blurted out some unfair gender generalisation and vaguely offended the other (we each did it at least once throughout the day), except we were sober and therefore able to avoid the conversation becoming a train wreck by seriously entertaining the crazy/bigoted idea we just blundered across in the name of liberalism,

and also I remember everything and when I woke up in the early afternoon I didn’t have to to back out a yiros I shouldn’t have eaten before I met Frazer for breakfast, which didn’t end up happening, but for different reasons.

I slept in because I came home sober and spent the whole night trying to process all of this, instead of allowing it to slip through the drunk fingers of mind into oblivion, where so many of our best ideas go to die – surely that’s what Ginsberg was on about when he said, ‘I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness’.

Even if I can’t remember every insightful moment because retaining these in our memory is like catching butterflies with a parachute, at least instead of those ideas slipping away into oblivion I can feel sure they have found expression on some level of my consciousness and will somehow, some day, manifest again,

which constitutes a segue to this guy F and how meditation is important for allowing that process to happen – that process of allowing influences to enter our lives and do what they will until the feeling of that influence manifests at some future time, the way karma yields after the events that preceded it, positive or negative.

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