John Farley’s MisInformation Desk

It’s happening. It’s happening now. For days or weeks I have been prodding a growing sense of dissatisfaction. I have been jogging my mind to find the source or cause of this dissatisfaction. It occurs to me now that my dissatisfaction comes from the trivial, the fleeting, the meaningless, and the superficial. Most recently, I have become disgusted by some of my most enjoyable recreations: drinking, drugs, pornography. Drinking and pornography are, by far, the most surprising.

Up until a week ago, my drinking would begin Thursday night and continue unabated until Sunday morning. I’ve noticed, though, that the last few episodes of debauchery have left me with overwhelming feelings of regret the next day. It seems that my usual compassion for humanity is replaced with contempt when I am drunk. It’s true that I can be a jolly old elf with friends or people of similar ilk. When I am around people whose auras seem to rub me the wrong way, this makes me very ugly.

A few days ago, I got drunk and found myself playing pool with a couple of supreme douche bags. I made an off-hand comment that implied that my opponent’s dead mother indulged in wanton acts of fellatio. Needless to say, this did not go over well. I’ve regretted the whole situation since, not because I felt the comment was unwarranted. Believe me when I say that he deserved every bit of my abuse, but I do not think that this Mr. Hyde is really me. Or perhaps it is, and the bleeding heart pseudo-intellectual that I’ve portrayed over the years is merely a carefully constructed mask for a cynical, abusive malcontent. Right now, everything is called into doubt.

I am also tired of the blackouts. Too many moments in time are now completely lost as if repressed by my memory.

I no longer feel fulfilled by inebriation. In fact, I feel quite the opposite. I feel as though I am poking holes in my soul. I need to find my center again; I need to wake my spirit. I think I need to shift my focus from getting fucked up to ruffling some conservative feathers. I’m always happier when I’m rebelling against something. But is it pathetic to still be rebellious and contradictory at 30? Jesus did his best and most controversial work between 30 and 33. Martin Luther King started making waves in his 30s. Perhaps rebellion and change is wasted on the young.

Posted on October 31st, 2007 by John Farley
Filed under: Trepidation