I’ve been in danger of backsliding, emotionally. Like the dog returns to its vomit, so the self-destructive artist returns to old addictions. I almost let myself slip back into that comfortable pattern, that unhealthy routine of cat and mouse. Sensing the danger ahead, I returned to the library of bruised hearts and reminded myself of every tear I cried on the matter, of every promise I made that I would do better for myself. It wasn’t a joyous romp along memory lane, but it was enlightening. And necessary. And I think I am cured.
Thursday, February 1st, 2007