Self Conscious, the J Eric Miller blog

Thursday, March 31, 2005

life is crazy candy baby

ok, so i'm proud of myself.
in my office, ready for my graduate seminar, and what i want, it's sugar.
swedish fish.
cinnamon bears.
something like that. a kick of some kind.
my job, it sounds easy, and maybe it is, but you're drained after a class. all that emmotional energy. maybe it's just from trying to take yourself seriously.
(my little addiction to my little instant audience).
you need something to start with.
mike and ikes.
laughy taffys.
you know, a rush.
thursday and i'm always tired by this time.
but i'm trying not to do that.
you know, sometimes i go all the way. i've been a fruition for a few months and that's tough. try it: only uncooked foods, raw vegetables, nuts, fruit.
but what i play with with a lot more frequency is the no refined sugars, few processed foods type thing. you ask yourself, what do you want. and you don't know.
(body fat 3%.)
(optimal health)
(the feeling of having defeated yourself, your worldy hungers [right, try giving up kissing then, fucking])
i'll hit it hard for a few months and then eat a fucking bear.
or fish.
a friend of mine, m, who is hiding out in mexico, literally, he has all kinds of habits.
i knew him in beirut where he was on the outs with his wife, a professor who hated him and probably still does.
he sweated bourbon and he was the kind of guy that could get you in real trouble.
of course, a tree doesn't fall when someone pushes on it. it's got to be ready to go. i saw him lean once against another friend and the trouble that resulted when that tree fell was tremendous.
anyway, trouble in beirut, if you can get to it, that can be hardcore. in a place where you americaness buys you everything, there are certain lines that if you cross, you'll never recross. you're done.
specail treatment, like love, can so quickly turn into its opposite.
anyway, m, he only does heroin once a year, on his birthday.
(is there any such thing as clean?
sure, being dead.)
so, i walk over to the bookstore as i've done the last few weeks. get out my card so i can buy a bag of candy. a handful of sugar.
standing there, foot to foot. every decision a hard one, and the counter girl, she's used to me.
candy candy i can't let you go. candy candy i love you so.
hot tamales.
and then: fuck it. it's not my birthday.
fuck it. walk away.
now i know this doesn't seem like that big of deal, but you know, for me, in this one day at a time sort of way, i like it.
winning like that, it gives me a kick.
not as much of a kick as sugar, but still.