"I'm Doug Stanhope, and that's why I drink."
Classic.
This man helps decrease any anxiety I might have about the possibility of regressing into a drunken state. Upon coming to terms with the inability to write with a pencil while inebriated, I would most likely return to recording myself speak, which is how I used to cope with having a brain that would not cease its rambling thoughts.
He has a biting wit. It makes me want to listen to "old tapes" ... if I could only find them.
Nope ... I can't find "the H-Files". It's probably just as well. The recorders I used to use are sort of dead.
I'm sure they are on a disk somewhere.
While searching an external hard-drive I came across the "diaries" I had scanned before burning them. How I use to love referring to those! It's like conversing with some strange supernatural creature ... so honest. No, alcohol was not 100% bad for me. I was rather soulful, and when I sobered up for little stretches, I did write deeply in my "notebooks."
Now, all I write are "technical-oriented" notes. I still like reading my technical and math-oriented notes, but, wow, I am afraid reading what I salvaged from my old destroyed diaries (in PDF files) could suck me into a very long night ... and I really would be better off getting some sleep. Of course, when I wake in the morning, I will want to continue with the math.
Oh well. It is what it is. I don't mind. I like that I have been able to focus on some math, well, a lot of math, actually. Still, I do understand why so many people have come to include drinking alcohol as a way of life. One becomes mesmerized with the things one thinks and says.
Maybe my psychical composition is similar to some of the Natives of the Northern American continent in that my brain does not process alcohol well, or, as some machismo military ass-hole might say, "That skinny man can't handle his liquor."
By the way, Holden, the notebook I stumbled across was H-142 from October, 2010 - That was when I had returned to Dirty Jersey from Seattle Washington. I ended up in Asbury Park, another place where the authorities see me as a man in need of psychiatric supervision.