The lazy eye

Deadlines push me to succeed. I hate deadlines. I do like to succeed.
Once more, stalled by dilemma, I stumble steadfastly forward. Lights flickering, they proverbially go on: Create a blog. Manufacture pressure.

Practical pressure, for me, is essential. Otherwise it becomes all internal. Left with a drink, a drug, or death, I must create a way out before there is none. For me, a drink, a drug, death--they're all the same. One is not much faster than the other.

Stagnant in unproductive misery, I curse myself for not doing. Then I am immobile. At least, externally mobile. My mental-life is a chaotic chatter of activity. An industrial metropolis of seemingly unrelated interconnectivity. Idly machinating, straining to be put to uses practical, the gears of mind whirl relentlessly on. An inncessant hum of dissonant motives/values/views. It would be nice to quiet the apparatus. Perhaps a drink? A Percocet?

For me, a drink is death. Practical pressure is essential.

I've created this blog; an attempt to demand more writing of me. I'm not going to get better stuck in my head. A time soon comes when thought of success gives way to useless (and delusional) fantasy. Here I write, daring to dream. For, as Langston Hughes said, "Life without dreams is a broken-winged bird."

Through courage learned walking from really good friends, I've learned courage to actually attempt one's dreams. Though opiates and alcohol comforted me when others could not, there came a time to make new friends. Sometimes, when dreams seem lonely, too hard, old friends start to call again.

That's when practical pressure becomes essential.