Wildly Bland

Once or maybe twice a year, I have the craving.

One of my inner demons from my past rears their ugly head, physically shake me and completely fucks with my head.

To describe my twenties as the rock n’ roll lifestyle is an understatement.

It’s probably more fitting to refer to it as a misguided, hot mess of a train wreck.

Did what I wanted, when I wanted, with who I wanted with no regard to others, their feelings/plans/lifestyle/etc…

Yeah, a selfish, drug-infused know-it-all life-of-the-party.  Jealous?

Not that I am any kind of saint these days, but trust that it is nothing like then.

I don’t want that life again.

Don’t want to do the things I did then, but even so those rare cravings do still hit.

My inner demon taps me on the shoulder & says “Just one. Remember the taste. Remember the rush. Remember your mind & heart racing. Just one & a cigarette.  You remember how that felt”.

The inner struggle is almost overwhelming.

I tell a few friends when this happens.

I like to think it keeps me ‘honest’.

I like to think it keeps me from picking up the phone & making that call.

It would be so easy.

Too easy.

It’s harder when I struggle with this alone.

Usually, I make sure I have someone else around.

Again, to keep me ‘honest’.

Last night, I kept looking at the phone.

Knowing it would be that easy.

I didn’t do it.

Sometimes the greatest victories are those that seem so simple and are done all alone.

So here’s until next time…