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Written in dullness

It struck me yesterday how dull and boring I have become. I no longer drink to excess, touch soft drugs, or have copious and imaginative amounts of sex. Is this not just a sign of maturity? I have no one who depends on me, and apart from not being able to afford it, there seems to be no reason not to indulge in these “sins”. It is not even that which bothered me, to be honest I enjoy drinking and still do but not to excess, I do not miss the drugs or the cigarettes, but I could do with more sex in my life. I’m not even sure the body could cope with it any more. What bothered me was that I stood waiting on the roadside for the little green man to appear that was the true indication of how dull I’d become. Part of me wants to return to those days, when I did not care and abused my body, but that was not all I was abusing and those days will not come back. Or is there a middle ground, bringing some excitement to my life with the confines of “normality”, going out and drinking and socializing more, but with things I do not know always go to and then makes it more special, like a tribute concert I went to recently. The only problem is when you hit that happy high, it seems a long and fast fall back. I think that is ultimately the problem I am scared to be happy, because it only makes the depression harder.


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