cognitive dissonance:
n. Psychology
A condition of conflict or anxiety resulting from inconsistency between one's beliefs and one's actions

The following files are backed up on a password-protected, exterior hard drive kept 99% of the time in a locked drawer in the doctor’s office. Should you wish to take a peek, be sure to ask me first so we can work out the details regarding your character’s invasion of my character’s privacy.

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I thought I was done with this too. Well. At least it’s not a diary and I’m not sitting on the beach scribbling in a notebook like some emo fuck. Right? No, I’m sitting at my desk, typing. Perfectly normal. As far as the rest of the world knows, I’m working. That’s what I’m doing anyway, isn’t it? Research. On myself.

What? I’m not laughing. All I have to do is document what I’m thinking, go back and read it, see if it makes sense later. Probably should’ve done that before I burned the last journal. Sure, it was incriminating as hell and might’ve landed me in some serious trouble if it got into the wrong hands, but I could have at least manned up and reviewed the thing for real before I torched it. Well, too late for that now.

So here’s where we stand now: I quit smoking—again—as of Ash Wednesday. And, as of today, we’re getting this drinking thing under control. Yeah, it’s still me here. Some version of me, anyway. I know, I know … this moderation concept is some weird shit. But it’s time to grow up, be the family man just like my dad before me. (And no, I don’t mean to say that a guy can’t be an adult and still run through a few packs a day—but we remember how that turned out for the old man, don’t we? I don’t know about you, but I don’t plan on going through chemo when Alex is in college, so.)

Where does this brilliant plan leave me? Making the right choices, I hope. I almost fucked up yesterday. Bad. I went across the hall to play doctor for Xiu, and woke up in the kitchen floor. Yeah. Real smooth, doc. Passed out before lunch time. Class act right there. Now, that in itself wasn’t so bad—I’d been eating light for Lent or whatever, fucked up my tolerance, blah blah blah … but then there was the other matter of my sister-in-law having been wearing nothing but a shirt and some lacy underthings when I first walked in. Shit, fan. You know each other well.

Long story short, we didn’t fuck. But neither was I a perfect gentleman. And Ais found out. We did at least have a productive discussion about the fact that—newsflash, sweetheart: your old man’s a chronic flirt. Be that as it may, I still had to agree that said flirtations and too much vodka may not be the best combination for a healthy marriage.

Now … Xiu. What to do. She and Ais haven’t been on the best of terms since Xiu got back from being locked up. One thing after another, and now this. It wasn’t her fault, was it? God knows I’ve probably teased her more than I should, without even meaning to. She’s just one of those girls who brings out that part of me—well, that one and a few other equally dangerous aspects, but that’s a story for another day. Time to wrap this up before the next class finds its way in to my room.

In conclusion: projects for the week include no more than a sufficient buzz per day, and avoiding future cat fights.