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Fucking Louie CK’s show makes me laugh but also feel horribly depressed for his characters and by extension me (the old me me me refrain never misses a beat does it?). The third episode of the fifth season with Michael Rapaport and the mental breakdown just echoed full bullet into my heart and mind. I retrieved the memory hole that constantly jibber jabbers in my head asking for a piece of my soul like bread pudding. The breakdowns and flashbacks that caked my body in emotional solar flares, the huge embarrassment at the lounges and making an ass outta myself, the sad, pitiful despicable me that flounced about for so many years, and all that anger. Salivating venom for all and sundry, gnashing teeth at guiltless kids and strangers just because of my damaged self; the ego needs playthings.

But that show brings up too much I want to forget but also not. Maybe I can learn more from it but it seems to me I just am addicted to it all, the ups and downs and the self-pity I keep inside, no need to disperse it on friends I can take it without too much self-medication. No more cigs, less booze, no strippers do I see in the midnight hour. No sexualis at all and I could care less. I just can’t shake it, so used to it and so dependent on it. That’s not good but it’s like that last cigarette, you say you’ll never go back but she’s got on a new blonde wig and you’re raring to go full monty. So what if I have an addictive personality, wanna fight about it!? This is the traits you learn to accept with age and apportioned wisdom, the stuff you think you know when younger but really you don’t know shit about dick. I pet my self-awareness like soft kitty.

As I’m addicted to the loathing and suffering I cannot dismiss it and pretend I’ll go another route anytime soon; no more of that resolutions fluff. That old lesson I learned about embracing pain and growing from it must be reestablished. Take it all, take it like Debbie doing Dallas. We could learn some lessons from the stars.

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