As I would have at 22, I now vacillate between elation and dismay at my own stupid impulsivity that I almost never opt to contain, even though I have learned it is, in fact, possible, and something I never regret when I actually manage to do it. The vacillation is the punishment and the reward. I want both, and deserve only the latter. But they are a set, at least for the time being.
I would like us to go away again, get away from everything that is pulling me. But that isn’t likely now, and not for awhile. I believe I need to refocus. Tomorrow my family is leaving to go camping overnight, which leaves me inclined to stupidity when left unsupervised. I could ride the Peloton and drink water and cuddle puppies. Or I could drink wine and make terrible decisions. Whatever. It’s like the decision isn’t really mine to make.
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