Here's what moderation means to me:
For many days or weeks I keep my beast chained up in a bare cell, just feeding it enough hope to make it really hungry. Actually even if I didn't feed it, it would still have the same appetite. Who am I kidding. But it rests there, restless but confirmed in its knowledge that it will be set loose at some point. That promise and implicit plan is a blueprint we together construct, conspirators in a complicated game of Russian roulette.
Then, when no one is around and I think it's safe, I let it out to play. It quickly becomes unmanageable, although sometimes I get it back in the cage. Most of the time it's not a disaster, actually. Many times it's just happy to run around for a little while before retiring, a bit unsatisfied but at least fed, for the night.
The problem is that we cannot coexist very well. Because sometimes it goes on a complete whacked out nightmarish adventure, and then afterwards I have to slowly and painfully pick up the smashed pieces. Some things can never be repaired. Others will never look the same even though they have been carefully glued back together.
Ultimately the pain sourced from the beast exceeds the pleasure derived from its play. Now it is locked up and not fed. But it's still there, and it whispers to me from time to time. Sometimes it moans, on bad days it cries. It is a sad, forlorn beast the dwells there. I pity it. But I cannot trust it ever again.
So, if you can moderate, I wish you the best!
With love,
T.
For many days or weeks I keep my beast chained up in a bare cell, just feeding it enough hope to make it really hungry. Actually even if I didn't feed it, it would still have the same appetite. Who am I kidding. But it rests there, restless but confirmed in its knowledge that it will be set loose at some point. That promise and implicit plan is a blueprint we together construct, conspirators in a complicated game of Russian roulette.
Then, when no one is around and I think it's safe, I let it out to play. It quickly becomes unmanageable, although sometimes I get it back in the cage. Most of the time it's not a disaster, actually. Many times it's just happy to run around for a little while before retiring, a bit unsatisfied but at least fed, for the night.
The problem is that we cannot coexist very well. Because sometimes it goes on a complete whacked out nightmarish adventure, and then afterwards I have to slowly and painfully pick up the smashed pieces. Some things can never be repaired. Others will never look the same even though they have been carefully glued back together.
Ultimately the pain sourced from the beast exceeds the pleasure derived from its play. Now it is locked up and not fed. But it's still there, and it whispers to me from time to time. Sometimes it moans, on bad days it cries. It is a sad, forlorn beast the dwells there. I pity it. But I cannot trust it ever again.
So, if you can moderate, I wish you the best!
With love,
T.
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