In Spain they have a saying which goes along the lines of this – “Do not mind how your past has been, because the dance you have danced is yours and no one can take that from you.” It sounds a lot sexier and more meaningful in the native tongue, especially if it is spoken to you by some flirtatious guapa’s, in sultry midnight Madrid, in broken Englisz, with their big brown buggly eyes imploring you to understand this way of being.
This is it for me I suppose – a way of being. How I am in the world, how I interact is fastened to the fabric of my past. All I know today is learnt. All I am today is a product of my experience. I see myself willing to change all the time and accept that I can improve and do things more betterer. It is not the science of rockets I’m talking about. We all have our story, just some of us change ours as we get on in the world. It is the same for everybody.
I’ve been harbouring the little devil on the shoulder for the last while. That is part of what I’m experiencing. I am resisting temptation of the boozy kind, for the most part. But I have relapsed. I have been drinking occasional wine. Or should I say wine occasionally. “Occasional” wine seems like the next wanky grape variety to come out of some sommeliers flowery talk hole. I have even gone for a few pints with the lads of a Sunday again – creamy thick headed pints of Guinness.
I suppose I haven’t been in the right head space to be writing anything as the sober paddy. I am slipping into nice, easy warm habits. It’s kind of like putting on your favourite velvet jacket, fitted with smoking pouch and internal heating, on a frosty evening, with the fire crackling and a glass of French Port in hand, just like your father used to (although my own Dad was a complete teetotal and not that I even had a velvet jacket, or a favourite one). Your language changes – you become “oh why yes of course, indeed! Why certainly Old boy” and the like. The landscape takes a different shape.
So I ask myself the simple question – Am I in control? I suppose the answer is yes. But the way I speak is changing – I can hear that myself. I am tolerating moderation. The funny thing is that nobody seems to mind. People treat me the same pretty much. So it is all me and not you. But that feeling of impending explosion is building. It always does. I don’t want to compare myself to a volcano, but I just did. Maybe Mount Etna. Or that one in Co. Antrim. Extinct as a Hi Tech runner boot.
I ask myself one other question – have I learnt enough from my past to know that I am able to recreate a future with the booze in there? Or am I simply weakening and falling back into its seductive tender arms? Am I a bastion of strength and fortitude? Can I assimilate Borg Like and conquer again? Or will she hold me in the morning light, kissing my troubles away, while I whimper?
That turned out to be five questions – and no answers. Gerrup!
I’m going tee total again soon. It’s the only way. I suggest you do whatever you want. To thine own self be true and all that jazz. Nobody knows better, and in the end, who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks. Once you worry about other people’s opinions you are doomed. Stand up and make sure. And above all, make sure you stand up. Stand up and dance….