success in a vacuum

Homeless dude offered me a joint last night. This is how it broke down:

BUM: Ay man, can I get money fo a beer? It's only a dollar fitty-five.
GTG: Yeah, sure.
BUM: 'Preciate it, man. You want a joint?
GTG: Ah. . . yeah, sure.

Walked with him for about twenty minutes. Never wound up getting the joint. I look at it as a blessing in disguise--on the one hand, good, I didn't smoke a joint. On the other hand, man, I really wanted that joint. Now that I'm talking about it, I'd like a joint right now, and in my heart of hearts I still don't see that desire as a bad thing.

Doc--one of the guys I'm at the convention with--dropped some religion on me last night. He said that our broken self is constantly at war with our better self. My broken self loves marijuana and wants more. My better self wants my broken self to stop being so fucking immature.

Three days clean.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]