Day Twenty: Temptation Avoided

Writing is a draining process; I comitted yesterday night to writing all of today, and in general, I believe I was successful. After a few hours of respite out with friends, I have returned to write once again, not technical writing thankfully, but my daily contribution to this archive that no one yet reads. There is something exciting about publishing, that this material is 'out there' if someone did want to read it, even though I acknowledge that no one is likely to ever find it. But that it is there, that I have contributed some of my ideas into the evervescent network known as the internet, is for some reason comforting.

But I digress. Today was successful in that I kept my promises to myself with respect to drinking (I had two diet cokes and a delicious bubble tea), and with respect to writing (both my day of writing and this blog post). However, by expending my willpower in those areas, my diet took a plunge. It seems like action and reaction; willpower seems to be a finite resource for me, I cannot deny myself all of the material pleasures at once yet.

Someday, perhaps I will be able to, as long as I continue to strive against the current, pushing with all of my strength to control my simple primative desires and to realize my beautiful long term goals. I have to remind myself always of what I dream to accomplish, and how only the constant repetition of hard work will get me there.

There was a moment tonight where I debated having a beer; it would have been easier than explaining to my friends the strange arbitrary pact I made with myself to not drink for a few weeks. The old me would have taken this easier path, but during the month of discipline I decided to take a stand. I differentiated myself, I was the only person not drinking; where usually I like to stand in the background, become one with the crowd, I was forced to the foreground, to become a reluctant target for attention.

I felt silly asking the bartender if he had anything non-alcoholic, hoping for some kind of o'douls that might have passed a cursory inspection, and the diet coke can he handed me might well have been a bullseye; I appeared different than those around me, separated from them because of my choice to not drink. And the beers called to me in their siren song; their sweet scents and tasty flavors serenaded me seductively, drawing me into their trap. Yet I was tied to the mast of the ship by the bond of a self-promise and although I heard their melodies, the bond held.

And now, here it is, three in the morning, and the bond is holding me to continue writing down these words. Letters and words, the title of this strange diary, the translation of my ideas into reality. In the night, my mind is always drawn from the mundane day-to-day details of life to the more mysterious questions that haunt me about this strange place we live in.

Forgive my philosophical rant, I merely wish to let the words find their way from my brain to my fingers and through wires spreading outwards. The filter is off tonight and the ideas simply wish to find their way to infect other brains with their strange messages. I can't blame them; they only wish to survive, as I do. And yet, someday I will die, although perhaps an idea or two of mine may survive a bit beyond my mortal shell. They too, will slowly fade. Nothing can stay.

Ozymandius was a mighty man who made mighty statues in the sand. Now, they are all but gone; we are but fireflies in a vast vast night who twinkle a few times before they light no longer. Tomorrow is guarenteed to no one, and today quickly slips silently into a growing sea of yesterdays. One day, tomorrow will come no longer, and all that I am, will cease to be forevermore. If only I knew what it all meant, the overarching purpose behind this strange life, if there is any real magic to be seen here or whether all is ultimately the same as nothing?

If there is a god, he is a strange deity, one who seems not to care about our very mundane human affairs. If I met him, I don't know whether I would look up to him or curse him; why must all men search futilely to understand his origins and his ultimate destiny? It is beautiful and dark, this life. It is bright and bleak mixed together in a strange hue.