Soundly, Calmly, Resolutely

I believe I have accomplished an unofficial sensory overload.
Having no desire to do anything self-destructive is very disorienting.

Cigarettes taste bad.
Alcohol hurts.
Sex is an aching void.
And sweets feel abrasive.

The surprising result of this collection of shifted sentiments is not the woebegone angst of a purposeless twenty-something boy. Actually it's quite the opposite: unbridled possibility.

It's not necessarily so easily defined as to merely be called optimism but there is hope in it somewhere.
And with the search for this rogue hope I shall revitalize my will to be everything I possibly can in the coming season of my life.

And while I may one day need to smoke, drink, fuck, or binge, I'll still hold to the center I'm wandering toward at this time in order not to fly like a spastic pendulum from one manic extreme to the other.

I soundly, calmly, resolutely refuse.