magicbeans. nothing if not awkward.

i'm reading a book called like being killed in which the narrator is a heroin addict. the other day in new york i was telling george, 'i can see myself as a heroin addict, very clearly. it's actually really scary how little imagination it takes. and i've thought those sorts of things for a long time. i think that one of the things that has kept me from becoming a drug addict is my introversion. i mean, i have a hard enough time talking to strangers as it is, how am i going to buy drugs from them? but of course it figures that i'd fall in love with an addict.'

(in stef's defense, although i had heard rumors about cocaine use before she and i were ever even friends, in the time that i've known her she's either stayed away from harder drugs or hidden them well.)

driving back out to daniel's this evening (i had gone home for dinner and the mole) it occurred to me, not for the first time, that i really hate my life. and what being a drug addict would give me, and it was the first time for this thought, is structure. there are certainly better things that are supposed to provide that sort of structure. architecture, poetry, music. but what it comes down to, basically, is my complete lack of motivation.

and it's actually one of the very base qualities that stef and i share. it's our reactions to it that are, of course, polar opposites. introverted and solitary versus extroverted and social. i bemoan the lack of structure, hoping for something better somewhere down the road, while she, still not making an overture towards anything terribly meaningful, finds a structure in avoidance. and says she loves her life.

i had realized a few hours beforehand that my phases of not drinking come from a similar place. not drinking provides a structure based around proving (to myself?) that yes, i really am strong, even though i feel so weak when it comes to her.