Tonight after explaining to Lurn how my day was, she shook her head and said “Your life.. is complicated.” And while I don’t disagree with her, it continues to strike me as incredibly odd whenever I give it even the semblance of serious thought. My life really is complicated.

Not that that’s untrue for a great majority of people, but for me.. I guess it’s mostly that in my mind, I’m a fairly simple person; and I like simple things. Shepherds pie, cheese sandwiches, earl grey. None of these things qualify as anything other than simple. Fuck, even writing this, I’m using OmmWriter. It’s as simple as you could possibly get. Seriously.

So.. this is my life, and I want you to know that I’m both happy and sad.. and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be. It’s been a hell of a few weeks, though I suppose you could extrapolate that to “months” or “so far this year” fairly easily. If you’re reading this and it comes as a shock to you that I’m in rehab, maybe we need to talk more often. Though it’s kinda been ongoing for a few years, so.. maybe that’s not why you didn’t know. Maybe I just never wanted to admit to anyone or myself that I had a bit of a problem with narcotics. Okay, and sorta amphetamines and alcohol. “Sorta” in the same way that hitting the asphalt after a car changes lanes into your bike at eighty mph “sorta” hurts… and after the second time, I’ve become intimately acquainted with how that feels. If you’ve never had the good fortune to experience detoxing from opiates, do yourself a favor and try your damnedest to never find out how it feels. Unless you’re a huge fan of laying in bed awake in your own, personal hell. In that case, knock yourself out.

Starting to fall down the rabbit hole here, and I guess we’ll see tomorrow how much of this survives the first light-of-day edit. Not much, I’m thinking. Not that that’s stopping me from typing or anything. Anyway.

I guess part of the incoherent, rambling thing I was trying to get at is that for the last.. 33 days now.. I’m sober. Completely sober. No vicodin, no uppers, no alcohol. Which is sorta crazy, in the I’ve-been-awake-for-thirty-minutes-it’s-time-for-the-first-drink sense. And six months without a cigarette. Done. Fucking clean.

Yeah, it really sucked getting here; extremely painful at the beginning.. Still is, more often than not. But sometimes, increasingly more often, it strays over onto the “awesome” side of the scale. It seems like for the first time in.. well, years, really.. I’m seeing the world around me without feeling numb. A couple months ago I told someone that the only time I didn’t feel like I was dead was when I was on the bike, throttle pinned, violating the hell out of.. really, any traffic law you could possibly think of. And I guess for a while that was true.

Now, though.. just give me a soft breeze and the sunset. It doesn’t really take a whole lot. I guess.. maybe this is because I’m.. happy? I’m not 100% on that, because I’m just not sure how that really feels. Not the entire day in blissful oblivion or any hippy bullshit like that. Just.. content.

Often happy, sometimes sad..

“Normal”, I guess, whatever the fuck that actually means.