i don’t write as much as i’d like to. i don’t have much to say that won’t sound trite, or echoed, or dull. i realize that i am a dull person, obsessed with something most people won’t bother being interested about, but fascinates me for many different reasons, the first and foremost that it helps me forget my life. it’s my alcohol, my meth, without much of the ill effects on the body and mind, but probably equally on the wallet. and like most drunks or addicts, i’m not very good at it: i stumble and trip every time i hit a dose, it’s euphoric while i’m doing it but leaves me exhausted when it’s over, but i want it even more just as soon as it’s done, and i want a hit, again and again, and again and again, the world never-ending, amen. it’s all i want to do, because of the way it numbs my mind to many things i should be paying attention to, like my bills or my day job, and it makes me think of other things that are falsely loftier, like the human condition perhaps.

i’m human, and i have a condition.

and so i paint and draw. during the day, while i type away at a computer, making errors because i have to force myself to care about my day job and my bills and what i’ll have for dinner for the next three days, i turn things over in my mind, what i’ll be doing to paper, which brush or pen i’ll use, what ink or color i’ll spread over it, if i need to use an x-acto blade to scrape, scratch, or cut. i consider a still life of skewed proportions and distorted perspectives, or some kind of landscape i can get lost in but doesn’t really exist, or a face determined by the lines i scrawl and the thought that it might be the face of a lover i’ve yet to meet. maybe i’ll use only two colors instead of five, or build up layers of the same shade to make my eyes hurt from looking at it. i like to think i’m the one doing things to it, with all this frenetic, unspeakable energy, but really, i’m the one being done, and done for.

maybe i need medication.

the only drugs i take are advil, tylenol, nyquil, and coffee. midol too, once a month. i rarely drink, but i can tell you that i like mojitos and mint juleps but not beer. any drink i have will be with food. i love food, but it’s not an obsessive love, though it comes very close. food leaves visible marks on me, and there are so many things i prefer to hide.