My Sweetheart, The Drunk.

Escapism at its happiest hour. Part imposter, part narcissist – poured into glasses that romanticise everything.

The Chapel Street Kerouac – without the books (he wishes).

Why does he do this? The lack of routine is certainly a factor. Being your own boss is liberation without reward & motivation comes equally from desire as it does necessity.

So where does indulgence come from? It quenches a thirst that begins within the ideal lucid dream & awakens in self loathing. What a cycle – what a lob-sided trade! – 10 hours of ignorance in exchange for the next 4 days of your mental wellbeing.

I’ve lost days to my ignorance, always have. I’ve unfortunately been here before many times. Functioning, fuelled by escapism on behalf of my realism, I delve into a liquified mind to achieve my kicks when I can rationalise doing it. Undoing that is half the battle, but I’ve done that before, too.

See you on the other side.

A kiss on the forehead for your hangover.

C.f