I'm not sure what I did to my shoulder, but something is misaligned, painfully so. A brilliant idea came to me last night, once I'd arrived home, after an afternoon of drinking and pot smoking: stretch it out. Sure, couldn't hurt, right? Unbelievably, I made it worse. Probably by pushing myself past the places where I'd normally stop. But that's what alcohol is for, I've learned. It's a substance used to creep beyond established bounds. Inherently Odyssean in nature, it lures us toward any and every singing siren. A truly insidious chemical. But what fun! To feel temporarily in control as you lose it; to feel clarity as you sip from the teat of ignorance; to feel grace and fluidity in speech and movement as you outwardly slur and stumble and stagger in stupor - it is utter joy, to be so deftly dichotomous. I fell asleep last night with the lights on and woke up early because of it. A subtle form of self-abuse, a premeditated punishment for the morning.
Soon I go to dine with my newfound foster parents. There will be drinking and eating and sunshine. Tonight, dinner with friends - more drinking, more eating, less sunshine.
I wonder how much piss and shit drinking and eating are responsible for.
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