Why I stopped eating Wendy's cheeseburgers

During and after my four year relationship I became historical. In my newfound misery (I've, unfortunately, known misery greater and worse since then), I could only dwell on the past or dream and project myself into the future. I was no longer "in the moment." I could only hope to live in the future. And to have a proper vehicle for my "future life" I would have to preserve both my health and my sexual potency (hence my avoidance of beef, cigarettes, and other deleterious substances and lifestyle practices.)

This was in addition to the present-timed (in the past, during those four years) self-denial I was already practicing. I became too good at patience, forbearance, and self-restraint. Then - when I was set free from my prison - my desire to "make up for lost time" became compulsion. Then, oftentimes, even when I succeeded the grayish black spiritual "gunk" kept me from fully enjoying the moment.

Walking past the gazebo on the Ocean Grove Boardwalk. Realizing that I'm growing up. Yes - me. Growing up spiritually. Big pieces of past conditioning falling off me like boulders. Seeing how conditioned I still am. Psychology is good for something.

Walking to the end of the Asbury Park Boardwalk. The beer garden. They put a bed in there in imitation of what they think is going on in New York City clubs. They're nowhere close to doing anything legitimately hip and they are not New York City. But they're trying. And I start to feel like I'm going to cry - like the time I jeered the Christmas lawn balloon as it sunk to the ground and then cheered as it was resurrected.

Erotic Irony.

Loneliness.