Ben Bonkoske

My horoscope basically said I shouldn’t half ass things (inferring that I do (and I did)). I wrote the same thing yesterday – “One mistake, one misstep and we go back to the beginning.” Now, it is after we indulge our vices, make mistakes, and basically let go of our high expectations for a minute that lasts a lifetime, that we reevaluate how minuscule every trudge towards commendable behavior really is. I feel wonderful right now after irredeemable lethargy that I doubt I will afford when it all comes crashing down. I spent a few too many hours in bed today (partly because of the rain) because, after one defeat, and one victory too many, I finally gave myself a swell of dopamine to rush through my brain transmitters so I wouldn’t transform into a giant insect. It’s a drug. I was convinced the whole show was over. Curtains. But like a deep gasp of breath coming up from thousands of leagues beneath the sea, I surfaced with a positive outlook that will last until I endure my next abstinence. I wish I were Jewish just so I would have a rational reason to starve my desires (which at this stage are still instinctual responses). Religion. Celibacy builds up and I can say that for the past three days, I was truly happy without sexual theatrics. It drains you and we all want a cigarette afterward. I have a binder that compiles all of my current life goals and are founded on the principles of Sleep, Water, and Yoga, but when it is a full moon, it is Sugar, Porn, and Cigarettes. Now, Back to the basics. I just haven’t developed a strong enough will to live. Yet? I am an old man! It might accost you if you hear my age, but believe me, it is old enough to know better. People just parade how disciplined they are in different ways. For me, it is this endless banter I blog about revealing my naughtiness (and Ideally progress). I was so depressed last night, and goddamnit if I didn’t have some beautiful revelations. Last night there was am automatic response from my computer that butt-dialed an old number which resulted in me tearing apart my office and hoping a cigarette would just fall from the sky while I listened to Mac Demarco. It was just a little heartbreaking to feel so close to something I shouldn’t be. Sorta like today, but the difference is I didn’t cry over pornography. I didn’t cry either way, but the tears were there. Here.