Giving up things like sobriety!

Tuesday 9:50 p.m.
                             After three days of not drinking and a week of not smoking anything, and the meditating and meditating day on day for hours and hours, and then this evening getting the bliss back and then some from the abstentions, I was suddenly confronted by my obvious inability to do the juju of jujus, and the impossibility of it all, and decided to succumb to the bevvy once again.
                             Or, I just decided that I should have a drink to see if I could be overpowered by something outside the stuff I was getting overpowered with anyway.
                               Also, since three or four folk come here, I thought I should say something, and I can only do that without thinking if I'm a bit pissed.
                               Spontaneity! Jack Kerouac was into spontaneity because he couldn't do the Christopher Isherwood bit which was writing it in longhand seventeen times. Spontaneity and flatheidedness gang thegither. So I won't edit this tomorrow. Only two people ever land on this bloggy these days which is wonderful since you can type when you are pissed and know that nobody apart from them will notice.
                                Well, hello, Jeannie! I read this summation from Australia about how the hotboys lived there in the 1920s and 1930s and how when Scotland was mentioned, they felt the homesickness so bad they all cried and cried. Well, it's nothing compared to what Jeannie has done, and I take my hat off to her, especially if she's one of the two folk who regularly land here. And even if she's not Scottishy, she's scottishy enough to me.
                                 Aspirations! I wanted to have the perfect romance. I thought I could achieve the perfect relationship. And then I felt so sad that I couldn't do that with a living human being, and now that I'm dead old and all, I have almost done that, or it has happened, so it has.
                                 The wummin with the perfect butt straightens up and says, at the allotment, what? More than forty years?  Of course, I have on my fantastically new leather jaikit and in the dim light maybe I look like Batman to her, but I say: Yes, I've been with the old doll longer than you have been alive, and would you like to accompany me to the hut for some bouncing up and down therapy, and, of course, she demurs, and has some vegetables to attend to, but if you don't ask, you just don't know. Everybody under forty or so has apparently been spending hour and hours every week watching porn, so who knows what's in their wee heids.
                                The schoolgirl did not offer me a blowjob. Although it kind of said that, I know the wee whores she could not avoid put her up to it, and I have her in my line of folk to consider who are dead, about eighteen of them now, when I start meditating, and she has definitely gone to heaven now, if there is one, and only the good die young.
                                 You ain't dead if folk remember you. I like Marie Rex and I will slot her into the list and think of her every day no matter what as long as I'm alive. I've said this to two flatheids and stuck with it, but she's not a flatheid and will, hopefully, live much longer than moi.
                                  The rest of yous are just going to have to pay the money up front!
                                  Well, I guess I'll have to drink some more and see what happens!