Strange Strawberry #5
I pushed open the door and walked, almost as if I was crawling, out of the basement with the sight of ladies still dancing in my head. It’s not often that I get beat up by them, but when I do, it hurts. This time, as is usually the case, it was with what I consider “friends” that encouraged my abuse.
The morning sky was the beautiful aftermath of the chaos that had befallen me. Like a hurricane that has just cleared, the amazing beauty of the above looked upon something wrecked. However, the contrast was internal and could only be felt or seen by me. The lack of external bruises or scars makes me look like any other person crawling out of the depths of the city at six in the morning. The way I am carrying myself probably also makes me look a member of the hung over. Frankly, I wish I was – the alcohol would have been cheaper.
I half-heartily stumbled over the park – the scarce oasis in the city – and lay down upon the dewy grass. The smell of the grass brought back my sense of smell that had been destroyed from the hours of inhaling the cigar and cigarette smoke.
I needed to make a choice. The money I lost with my pocket kings to those queens was the entirety of my bankroll. As too many individuals that bad stories (and at least one good movie) have been written about, I gambled more money that I had the ability to lose. I knew I was good. I am good. These things happen.
Those two phrases have repeated in my mind over trivial and significant losses, but this was different. I knew my limits and the allure of building my bankroll high enough to play “real poker” allowed me to get thrashed. Can I do this again? Will I ever be able to give up the game? I already know the answers to these questions. Right now I know I want to quit because the pit of my stomach is giving me one of the worse feelings in my life. But, I will shake this. It is the inevitably of humanity in our ability to survive through the worse and come back for more. Only, I do it to myself.
Is it still addiction if I want to do it?
It may take awhile for me to return to the floor, but to dance with the ladies again seems all but inevitable.
The morning sky was the beautiful aftermath of the chaos that had befallen me. Like a hurricane that has just cleared, the amazing beauty of the above looked upon something wrecked. However, the contrast was internal and could only be felt or seen by me. The lack of external bruises or scars makes me look like any other person crawling out of the depths of the city at six in the morning. The way I am carrying myself probably also makes me look a member of the hung over. Frankly, I wish I was – the alcohol would have been cheaper.
I half-heartily stumbled over the park – the scarce oasis in the city – and lay down upon the dewy grass. The smell of the grass brought back my sense of smell that had been destroyed from the hours of inhaling the cigar and cigarette smoke.
I needed to make a choice. The money I lost with my pocket kings to those queens was the entirety of my bankroll. As too many individuals that bad stories (and at least one good movie) have been written about, I gambled more money that I had the ability to lose. I knew I was good. I am good. These things happen.
Those two phrases have repeated in my mind over trivial and significant losses, but this was different. I knew my limits and the allure of building my bankroll high enough to play “real poker” allowed me to get thrashed. Can I do this again? Will I ever be able to give up the game? I already know the answers to these questions. Right now I know I want to quit because the pit of my stomach is giving me one of the worse feelings in my life. But, I will shake this. It is the inevitably of humanity in our ability to survive through the worse and come back for more. Only, I do it to myself.
Is it still addiction if I want to do it?
It may take awhile for me to return to the floor, but to dance with the ladies again seems all but inevitable.
posted by Anonymous at 4:03 PM
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