82 Days to Las Vegas…

“And far away, up high on Telegraph Hill, a dozen owners of a dozen mansions frown as they lock up their gates, chain the doors, quickly cover their gardens, hide them away from these unpredictable pigeons and tourists. Parrots light from the trees, winging out towards San Francisco Bay as a shadowy figure extracts a book of matches from his pocket…”

The last thirty days have been mediocre, at best. Everything I’ve set out to do is still possible, but time is quickly running out. Still smoking, albeit sporadically. Still drinking, albeit far less. I’ve lost some weight, though not as much as I would prefer. Meditation? Occasionally. Gym? Certainly, but my diet remains a minefield of good days and horrible moments. I’ve not stayed on budget, but the damage done is not enough to cancel any plans. Drew Brees of the Saints was photographed looking chummy with Donald Trump so you know, all ideas of admiration will eventually go the way of the dirt.

The long and short of the whole mess is I’m doing better, but nowhere near good enough. I’m still being trapped by external influences and needs, by damaging slips in forward progress – all the more frustrating as I set the traps, bait them and laugh while I poke at the spring mechanism in the mousetrap, breaking my fingers one by one.

The internet itself is damaging to my goals. It sits there on the computer screen, this portal to the rest of the world and when I’m connected there is one particular perspective, a particular way of life and when disconnected there is something entirely different. To my chagrin, I find a spend the majority of my waking hours at home connected where identity is quickly externalized: validation is found in views and likes on Flickr, on Twitter (I’ve left Facebook, but still am stuck with some social media) and my reality is distorted by these attentions, positive and negative. All across my screen flows television programs, rageful news, climate change hopelessness, pornography, distraction, distraction and more distractions that can displace my own identity, transforming to an accumulation of scattershot senselessness and physical/emotional extremes. When disconnected, I reside in a world of personal thought, creativity, spirituality and calmer reflection, a much healthier way to be and a place of real progress. Yet too quickly I’m back online to jump around with the monsters.

It’s just another addiction, another way to dislocate from myself and what needs to be done.

And for the record, I don’t include this, simply because as stated thirty days ago, these words are for me, something to think about and whether anyone reads or likes it, I honestly don’t care. I’m just documenting progress, or lack of…and I know I need to have more to document, just as I know I have moved a bit closer to my goals, but nowhere near fast enough.

It won’t be another thirty days before I return. Can’t be, because rest assured if it is, I’ve crossed the threshold from salvageable to another failure.

So that’s it for now.

Have a nice day,

• Drake