Catharsis. Places in my mind I can’t seem to go otherwise. The entire cycle of numbing, dropping into a state of being a redneck who doesn’t care about cerebral things, then waking up jittery and hot and horny, then aching through the morning — if I’m lucky, I drank on a Friday or Saturday, and I can nap it off. Or, I go home for lunch. I feel like a sick dog of doom, all miserable and contrite and certain I’m going to hell.

Then, by the evening, I feel cleansed and ready to try it again.

It isn’t right, and I should stop.

There are pieces of me and pieces of life that just don’t seem to add up or fit correctly, and nothing I’ve ever done has quite gotten them smoothed down or converted or deleted so that everything grooves and functions nicely.

I recognize the absurdity of some of my out-of-control thought processes once I’ve allowed reality to kick me around for a while. I always return to Jesus. I wish I could stay with Jesus.

I hate sinning. I hate the temptations of lust and alcohol. I hate it when I lose my temper.

Being a good Christian can be pretty boring if there is nothing informing this path other than more books about being a good Christian. It can be downright miserable on those Sundays where everyone at church seems to be scowling at me or merely patronizing me with a smirky kind of look when we pass the peace.

I start to let everything about my life that hasn’t gone right get the better of me. And, there is a lot to choose from.

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