In this case it was my !new and improved! hard-hitting and edgy! gritty and REAL! recovery blog. My initial idea was to check in on a daily basis for the first year of my recovery and detail every horribly uncomfortable white-knuckle moment with searing truth and RAW, stripped down emotion.
The only problem is…is that right now, I have no emotion. For the past two weeks I have been as dull and flat as I was when I was an awkward prepubescent. Ok, bad analogy. But flat. Flat is accurate. It’s not even depression, I don’t think. I’m not sad. I just don’t give a shit. About anything.
At least when I was drunk, I felt something…even if it was stupid, and like shit.
It’s the awful kind of grumpy-funk that makes hours of semi-catatonic head-nodding to Foster The People the most thrilling part of of my day. Yes, Foster The People. I know. I should be shot. The Gigamesh mix of that daffy song is pretty festive, I must say. I hope secretly I’m not planning some Virginia Tech kinda freak-out massacre. Nah. I’m just sadly enjoying really really awful music. I am old and way past my peak freshness.