Cole Porter's song "I get a kick out of you" is playing in my mind, primarily the line "I get no kick from cocaine" - that line sometimes gets edited out by the conservative factions. I don't get a kick from any drug, and it's no time to toss my hat into the drug lifestyle. When I'm sick, I try to see if water therapy will do instead of taking meds. But the option of taking narcotics leaves me cold. Life's too full of surreal moments and pure pleasure to color it with anything else.
However, drugs aren't the only things in life that push our emotional or psychological buttons. And getting over anything, even the most frivolous of addictions, takes one through a period of withdrawal, that low after the high, the feeling of incapacity and imbalance. Wanting to reconnect to the rush but there's nothing there to latch on to. If there's anything that emphasizes the solitude of life, that we are born into this world alone and will die alone, it's the understanding of withdrawal that has come upon me at this time.
The World Cup is a frivolous pursuit, it won't cause lasting peace for mankind, nor will I figure out the answer to life's question (it won't even advance the right question for us to answer). But it is a wonderful way to enjoy one month every four years, to bond with other fellow fans, discuss the minutiae of the player's, the games, even the referees who have to go into psychotherapy to overcome guilt of sending off players. And as it's only a short few weeks, I immediately jump into the fray and then find myself agonizing through the motions afterwards. When I was 12 and 16, I mooned about for months after the finals. Ran through all the newspapers for articles on the Argentina players, and cut up anything news worthy. Typical teenage infatuation. These days, I have work to get me through the next few weeks.
Getting over an affair is another withdrawal moment. I found myself twitchy for two weeks, waiting for news about him, wondering why I was still looking for emails or YM contact when I had dismissed him. It took a mutual friend's anger over his irresponsibility (on an issue that had nothing to do with the relationship) to settle my nerves. Seeing him in an unflattering light was a good way to douse some of the smoldering embers. I felt sorry for him, but also found myself annoyed that he was being a jerk to his friends.
If I had the money to waste, I'd distract myself with travel. I'd fly to Melbourne and Sydney, then Auckland and Christchurch, before a couple days in Bali. I'd buy books, cheese, shoes, and a new digital camera; days in a spa, taking in the landscapes and cityscapes. It would be at least a month of distraction, spent without a care in the world.
But as I'm a regular joe schmoe, I'll have to distract myself with the what I have on hand - school, work, house upkeep, garden upkeep, and not bothering friends with my moping. Return to the mundane.