Ugh.

Today was rough.

As I sit here, nursing my increasingly-signature cocktail — a White Russian made with infused vodka and served in a Red Hook sampler glass — I reflect back upon the last thirteen or fourteen hours of my life and I am amazed at what I have accomplished.

At the same time, I feel an incredible whirlwind of emotions that I have wanted very much to kill and to bury. Amazingly, alcohol was not involved in this situation until very recently, and even then I've chosen to use it as a sleep aid more than anything else. Oh, what I would not give to be rid myself and my past. Finding myself suddenly in another part of the world has done so much for me that I feel like I'm losing ground by failing to fully let go of these repugnant visions and the anger that it stirs inside me.

And I was making such good progress, too.

I was pretty thrilled to have stayed out late going to see The X-Files movie for just this very same reason: seeing a film, at least one that avoids certain subject matters, was a great diversion and an opportunity to be free of my own psychological prison on a Sunday. It would seem that as compensation for Sunday's sojourn I pay the price tonight, never truly free to escape myself.

I guess I just haven't been keeping myself busy enough.