Preface

In Buddhism life is considered a test, I tend to believe in that philosophy though a bit unsure of who is exactly doing the testing and to whom. With this thought in mind I give myself a great deal of latitude with my thoughts and actions. I have decided to call most of my past life a ‘do-over’, just like we use to do while playing sandlot baseball as kids. If I had a miniature doll of myself I might hold it up to God and kiss it to rid myself of all impurities. Today, December 21, 2010 begins my quest to find something to grab hold of that will define a new place or a new chapter in my life. What I seek most is a new personality, or maybe an attempt to try and reinvent myself and become a different me. I have tried this before but I would always reach a dead-end. No matter where I moved, from New York to Houston, to Boulder, to Las Vegas, I still ended up being -- well -- me. I’ve discovered what is missing in my life never changes? The scenery may change, but the ‘me’ doesn’t. Once I fall into a basic routine I become the same incomplete person I have always been. Those same missing elements of my personality keep haunting at me each time a relationship ends.

I have been joyfully absorbing alcohol through my body for about forty-five years. The fact that it hasn’t killed me by now is beyond any form of rational thought. It has adversely affected every one of my three marriages and most of the numerous relationships that have eclipsed them. I have caused a good deal of mental anguish to women that have tried to love me. Like a monk that must take pilgrimage to a special place before he can truly become a spiritual being, I have decided to journey the 8,842 miles from my home in Las Vegas to Chaing Mai, and skirt the traditional end of the year holidays to begin twenty-eight days of sober reflection. I am not sure if I need alcohol rehabilitation because on November 19, 2010 after I decided to go through with this endeavor, I also realized that it would be hypocritical to continue my lifestyle of guiltless debauchery up until the time of entering the white pearly gates I imagine at the entrance of “The Cabin”. There I will commit my body and spirit to a band of English and Canadian do-gooders who have found a life and business venture in the northwestern jungles of Thailand.

Why give them the pleasure to witness all my withdrawal symptoms so they can speculate with smiles and giggles in some doctors only-room discussing the degree of my infirmity. Sorry boys, I much rather play the martyr in the privacy of my home and test my own fortitude and self-discipline. I have achieved success with the one exception of two glasses of wine when a visitor from Houston, you know who you are girl, dabbled temptation with a hit of sex appeal in front of me and I caved in like the coward I am. No more I tell you, no more. I am stronger than you think. I have stopped chasing the spirits, whether aged to perfection or not, and any remaining pharmaceuticals offered by the generous doctors trying to make me more comfortable while filling there pockets with swag. I stand on my hypothetical soapbox and scream to the hilltops – no more Percocet for pain, Ambian for sleeping, or Cymbalta, my anti-homicidal drug that keeps me putting up with people I can’t stand. No more I say. The pharmaceutical giants of the world be fore warned, tomorrow I start a new life with a brand new day. I have no answers for my quest is only beginning. I only hope to wake up after twenty-eight days with the sun shinning and love in my heart.

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