Day seven defeated. Strange how easy my life here under the Saints halo has been, when I’ve been tinkering with something all the time. I continued my office cleaning. Tomorrow I will be on the point where I can see the whole floor and vacuum it first time for three years. The flower pot mold on the laminatee that came down last year’s spring will soon be snow of the last summer, if such a brilliant language image is allowed.
Surprisingly, it has been simple to stay out of the wine barrel, but there has been some trials too. When I bought some candy from Arse-market, I realized that I did a horrible mistake: I bought liqueur confections! I have not eaten those for years, but today my subconscious mind made a trick. At first I was like fuck, of course I can eat liqueur candies while liquor strike – but then I googled about it. There was a warning that the indulge could start from a small mistake: a liqueur fondant, a sip of sacramental wine or even from using hand disinfectant.
One of those Google-fundamentalists was afraid of moments when he fills his cars ”pee boy” with a pound of ethanol. He wondered that what if, just when the fluid container is only a half a second away from his face, he will be striked by a sudden mental disorder, and he must knock down all the liquids to his jaw.
It is these kinds of stories that are puzzling me in my temperance. I want to be a free and wild artist now and forever, not a nasty, distressed ex-drunkard who stares at an liqueur confections bag and wonders whether the mouth of the bag is a door to hell.
I did not open that door, however. Not yet.