I experienced an illuminating moment of self-discovery yesterday, during the course of a short telephone conversation with an old buddy, on my possible upgrade to the status of "Non Drug-Using Friend."
Without going into the details of our conversation, I'd say that I think this is definitely good news for me; since my unceremonious exit from Wonderland earlier this year, when I officially decided to stop fucking myself up on weekends, I've been feeling a little ambiguous about my association with drugs. It's been a case of trying to practice a sort tolerance for something that you will, unwittingly, loathe afterwards. Something that has done an incalculable disservice to you, and in severe cases, irreparable harm.
Imagine feeling very pleased with yourself that you've stopped the abuse, and at the same time, trying not to come across as condescending towards people who still enjoy them. Imagine trying to not worry about what the drugs are doing to them or about what the drugs have done to you.
Not fucking easy, is it?
Well, I have only two vices left; alcohol and cigarettes. (If you consider coffee as a vice, you might as well rent a buggy and ride for the nearest Amish town. Might I recommend New Holland, Pennsylvannia?)
And I'm aiming to strike out those two, as well.
Eventually.
