What about the high life?

Have you ever taken a close look at my blog's banner?

The subtitle to babblingbandit.me is "From the high life to parenthood via rock bottom".

I've written a lot about that filthy place called Rock Bottom and a lot about parenting but next to nil about the High Life.

Despite where it got me (ie on the slow train to Rock Bottom) I actually had a lot of fun while living the High Life before it all turned to shit. And believe it or not I miss it sometimes.

Me just before heading off to a music festival on New Years Day 2007

This morning Noo and I were driving around looking for a place to park the car in the inner west of Sydney because I was gagging for a good piccolo latte. While swearing my way around several blocks of Marrickville (Sydney's latest centre for good coffee) we were listening to my favourite radio station, Triple J.

Zan Rowe, who does mornings, had a couple of the fellas from The Cat Empire on the show talking about some of the all nighters they'd had and their top five favourite tunes to party on to. You can check out the podcast here if you want to listen to it. The Cat Empire absolutely rock!

Anyway, the show got me thinking about the all nighters I used to have. Boy, have I had a lot. In the almost four years I lived in London I would guess at least once a week I missed a night of sleep because I was out and on it. Or in and on it. At least once a week.

I guess I've never written about it here because I don't want to glorify drug taking and boozing. I also worry that I couldn't do the stories any justice if I didn't.

Those were heady days as the cliché goes. Debauched, risky, exciting, arousing, demented, exhilarating. An escape from reality that I don't get any more. There's a reason why people get addicted to the party life. When you're on a high, up all night, breaking all the rules it feels fucking fantastic.

In rehab they call it "dry drinking". Basically talking about past experiences of drinking and drugs can give a sense of euphoria with just the memory it. You're not allowed to talk about using while you're an inpatient. It's counter productive to getting sober.

I enjoy it. Not that I do it often but I can sit with my buddies I used to take drugs with and talk about our past nights out until the sun comes up. It makes me feel good. I get tingling body sensations as the memories shoot through my brain, travelling along the same neural pathways that used to be filled with alcohol, cocaine and ecstasy.

Just writing this post is having a mild affect on me. But, don't worry, I'm not gonna run out and try to score. For me those memories are just that. Ghosts of my past.

I don't yearn for drugs any more or for booze. I don't even crave cigarettes which is amazing. But I would never be tempted by any of it lest I get hooked once more.

There will need to be stories written one day. Perhaps I'll veil them loosely as fiction. Names will have to be changed to protect the guilty.

Until then I will just savour my fond memories alone.


V.



PS. I just want to say thank you to all those who read and commented on my last post about my anxiety attack on the weekend. You have no idea how wonderful you all are and what relief you provided me with your acknowledgement of my blog and support for what I tried to express. A million times, thank you!

Floggin my bloggin over at With Some Grace.