something’s missing

I’m still not entirely sure why it’s taken me so long to start up writing again after what has been almost a year of an arid pen; may it be a simple lack of confidence or my struggle with sobriety where the sweet poison acted as a source of fuel for the written word.

I’ve ruled out the latter as I’ve been writing more songs in the last year than any of that before…

Still, there was something about sitting in a well worn-in loveseat that hugs shoulders while you type; sipping on a stirred, monkey 47 lemon twist chilled nectar that reminded me of a liquid courage responsible for my usual Irish-goodbye on the early afternoon.

I’m fast approaching a year without my favorite wallet burner, yet I don’t feel too much different in the day-to-day. Perhaps hindsight is 20/20, or perhaps I’m now used to this sober way of living and dealing with issues face on instead of drowning in a temporary bliss. I dream about it almost every night, and I can only pray for another way to be reminded of my decisions that won’t interfere with my sleep schedule.

I would imagine returning to the bottle would be like returning to that ex; nerve-wracking yet thrilling at first, the night going on forever and into the morning only to wake up with a reality that time machines do exist and that with great power usually comes with a lack of responsibility.

I digress.

Outside of a pessimistic note, in my specific case (and as I've learned through talking with many sober individuals, everyone’s story and relationship can be unique), I believe alcohol could slowly return and form into a once again healthy, every-now-and-then spontaneous endeavor…just like my writing or any creative passion which that I’ve fallen out of lust.

Sure, it would take some training. And a whole lot of discipline. And for sure some boundaries.

I do hope to one day see her again. That is, if we can behave ourselves.