To Jack or Blog? That Is The Question

The Author, sitting naked and, now high, at his mothers computer in her office which is in his old (and current) room, debated on whether to pleasure himself, (via any combination of erotic chat, pornographic still image or overly graphic video clips), or to log in to his blogger account and author this very post. Fortunately for you, and, (though it is only a reprieve), that all-cotton hand towel, he steered his browser this way.

The Self-Destruction Diary

For the better part of a day, I have been "writing" this post, in my head. Sitting down to write it out now, though, I can honestly say I don't know exactly where we are going on this one. I do know it starts a few Thursdays ago. I would have written something then, but, as I recall, I was far too hammered to focus on my laptop. Oh, and I was also behind the wheel of my car.
This is NS, (pronounced, Ennis).

NS has been with me for a while now. (oh, and this picture is a reasonable facsimile I pulled off the web) We like to travel on moonless nights, when there is a slight chill in the air, with our top down and marvel at the distant worlds and stars that pierce the sky when you are two hours from a city. Most of the time, I am neither high nor drunk. Leaving school some weeks ago, (little known at the time to be for the last time), I can boast not that I was sober. A six-pack of New Belgian Trippel was originally intended to send me back into the stupor I had enjoyed for most of that week, since Monday morning. Something about Thursday, though, got me filled with the wanderlust. The Trippel and I were going home. Before I had passed the 20 mile sign outside the city, I had consumed 5 of the 6 beers. I had considered the 7.5%+ alcohol by volume of each beer. I had just failed to consider what that might do to my unfed-in-over-24 hours body that was also on day 4 of a new drug combination that magnifies the effects of alcohol. The name of the game was "Get To Where You're Going Before You Go Into A Blackout".

Now, I know what you are probably saying to yourself, right now.

But why does he call his car NS?

Oh, that? Yeah, that's a good question, too.

Let me ask you...do you watch "Entourage" on HBO? (If you answered 'No.', then please scroll to the next paragraph.) (If you answered 'Yes.', then continue reading.)If you recall the episode where Ari puts E off onto the has-been producer, Bob Ryan, played by Martin Landau, when E decides to shop a script with Ryan, Ari offers Ryan a ride in his BMW, to which Ryan responds, "Why would I want to ride in that Nazi sled?". Nazi sled. NS is a Mercedes. Wish it was a better story, but there you have it.

Others may have been questioning my decision-making skills. I mean, obviously, I wasn't completely drunk or I wouldn't have thought to discard each bottle, with some force, to the side of the road. The container they came in enjoyed a similar fate. However, at speeds approaching 100, force, on my part, was hardly needed. I know that I made it to my location in near-record time. I was lucky. Some days you're the delivery boy; some days you're the pizza.

This story, and others that come under the heading of "the self destruction diary" is, I believe, typically out of character for me. But with the full-scale realization of some heavy shit, I have, on many recent occasions, lost the will to live or to reign myself in from potentially destructive acts.

Next Time? The Pepsi Challenge