At some point in my early twenties, I had a realization then I smoked a blunt had a drink (by a drink I mean I guzzled half a bottle of white cabana rum), then...then I forgot about it. Whatever the thought might have been I'm sure it would have been useful just mayhap not to me. I hope it finds life and relevancy again somewhere in the muddy ditch where I abandoned it soaked in ethanol and THC. Hope and purpose I had none that was the crux of it, but I had plenty of disdain an overabundance of disdain. Enough to drown the world in but not enough to drown out the noise of the world.

"A man is not an island." One of the persistent sayings that people love to regurgitate. I never liked it! What happens when a man would rather be an island? Solitary and unbothered. Then a man has to acknowledge reality before reality hits him with a five-kilo hammer that leaves him somewhat perturbed. But young men are stubborn and we care not for consequences nor for the limits of our own abilities of which upon reflection I had little to none. I could pour a drink well enough, a skill that is not greatly appreciated if you ask me, I could never roll a blunt, I've got sweaty hands. I disdained my sweaty hands. I disliked the taste of smoke in my mouth just as much as I disliked my sweaty hands. But all the kids were doing it so why not me. It was crap! I definitely had a preference for rum which is why I did it again because I was convinced, I was doing it wrong. Wasn't I? Everyone around me seemed to be having a jolly good time so the issue must be me. How foolishly foolish.

Life continued, I sought numbness, I sought clarity, I sought guidance, I prayed for chaos. I required it! Meaning guidance. I can sit here now and acknowledge my lack of knowledge; I can acknowledge my lack of empathy and press my stubborn face down in the fecal residue that was my early twenties and force upon myself the realization that my disdain was only ever for myself directed at my own ineptitude. Don't worry this doesn't end with me becoming some sort of drug addict or alcoholic which is certainly what my mother feared that I am bloody sure of. Alcoholism and addiction require one to pay attention and have dedication sort of like religion of which I had none...dedication that is. Focusing on a single path for too long made my head hurt. Drinking got boring. Then it happened as surely as it would happen to any young man who left an endless trail of women and empty bottles in his wake, the birth of my daughter. A most pedestrian and predictable conclusion I was twenty-one and I only felt fear. At least that's better than disdain.