Well, moderation is going all-right.
I am highly conscious of taking great care.
In far more exciting news, I and Sharron Idol sharron-idol.com have composed a song together.
Its title is "Unseelie Rade", and it will be released this summer on the album "I'm A Person; Not A Genre" (Ice Recordings) - (It will be) AVAILABLE THROUGH iTUNES.
I really enjoyed recording it! Yay!!
Steve persuaded me on Sunday that one or two pints once or twice a week won't hurt. That is fair enough, but that must be my absolute limit - and I think I will be choosing to politely reject the frequent opportunities for those pints. Until I am certain of what is going on and how I feel about it all, I want to remain as cautious as I can be.
I admit, I had two pints with Steve on Sunday, and I am fretting without need, but I have to do this right, moderation or abstinence, which it is matters far less than the practical results, as long as I don't do it wrong.
I think it may be better once a week than twice, but to be honest... I know I am at lowest risk if I fully abstain.
I feel rather run-down at the moment... In several ways. Some will simply ease with time.
Utter horror. Over many years I became not only someone far from myself, but I also became a monster.
Then I became a frequently pissed-up monster.
I am frightened, but am strong enough to change for the better.
There is no point in caring when people mock for what has been.
When I succeed and prosper, it will be my triumph over my problems and errors, so proving myself to myself, and that need not be any of their concern.
Carpe Diem.
The Season's Beginning,
The trees brightly bud,
Pushing forward; The Maiden,
Bears Fire in her elegant hands.
The fountains are flowing,
The Winterbourne rising
To wash the wet Meadows,
The lambs bleat their cries
To the sharp stars above.
Through bare branches
Flickers the light of the morning,
The noon blankets in iron-hued skies;
Clouds of stone above
As the moors mist down below.
Grain's promise keeps its whispering,
The blades sparkle in dew,
The attercop's nest is a tangle
Of silver and copper,
The ravens aloft are not at their rest,
They roam wide,
Observant believing,
Pilgrims forever,
In beggarbird guise.
Rowan crosses pinning our breasts,
And red rune berries
Encircle our souls,
Examine and reflect on right
Treasures held as goals.
Haste motivates,
Stillness measures,
Evaluation is in looking back,
But there is so much to do.
Her Holy Fire is guarded and eternal,
The rivers flow forever more,
There's barley for the brewing,
And sweet Poet-Songs in store!
I have had a near-death experience, and have given up alcohol as a result.
I am frightened more by what my life had become, than I was by the NDE its-self.
All I can do is try to make dignified progression, there would be no use in wallowing in negativity.
I am glad to be alive.
It is my responsibility to change, now. I don't know how or when my decline began. I am feeling awed by the awful magnitude of it all.
I am awed with gratitude at the grace of living.
