
I admittedly don’t know how to use theism, or the belief in an outside force, to feel better. As much as I’ve tried to use externals to change my feelings it’s never worked on any long term basis. Be it from drugs, women, grades, raises, applause, laughter – temporary relief always fades. And guess what doesn’t? That pervasive dark feeling of dis-ease, shining black through like a reverse sunrise-blinding any glimmer of satisfaction that the crack of quick cash or a fat stash or batting eye lash could give me. Gone. And there I am left to feel, one more time, like the wrong side of a colon.

Disturb the Comfortable, Comfort the Disturbed
Combine a smart ass 12-stepper with a holier-than-now Zen-tillectual and you’ve got a reason for Prozac whether you’re the subject or the object. On one hand we’re superior because we’ve overcome addiction and on the other because we’ve found The Way. Add the ability to quote some Freud and you get an insufferable jerk who really knows how to get under people’s skins.