Rum...

I’m digging this new song by Machel Montano right now – Bottle of Rum...it’s catchy, fun and I can identify some what...especially the lines “...no need to wine on me in de party, I’m already drunk...I love me rum and me rum it love me...sober overrated...” But I had a flashback...well at least fragments of a flashback from my last episode with this vixen called rum aka alcohol (note how I ascribed a sex of female orientation to this enjoyable yet bothersome spirit – ostensibly most things which cause some angst in my life are of a female persuasion, sigh, can’t help but love to hate them sometimes; but I digress, back to topic).


I enjoy a good drink, but I can’t very well be in love with something that when we get so intensely involved with it leaves me with shards of memory; and multiple what the fuck moments aka Steve Urkel moments; you know that moment when an event flashes back in your minds eye and you go, what the fuck! Did I do that?...Without fail every time I have one of those alcohol induced what the fuck moments I say to myself I am not drinking any more – but invariably that seems to translate later down in the not to distant future as “I will not drink anymore than I drank the last time...” which by drink number X I can’t remember how many drinks I had the last time. It’s a fucking vicious cycle I tell you. On the bright side I don’t have what the fuck moments every day, or every other day – just random weekends.

So I had a what the fuck moment sometime on Monday when I had a brief flashback of drinking a flaming Sambvua on Saturday – what the fuck was I thinking; shit I wasn’t my brain cells had been disabled – those motherfuckers went off line by the fourth drink of my mixed poison. My what the fuck moment was upon realization that I had apparently burnt myself on the hand – then it all came back, in a hot flaming flash. I lit the drink; tried to blow it out but instead only succeeded in catching my hand on fire – but that wasn’t the kicker believe it or not – I stood there in amazement watching my hand aflame because it reminded me of Ghostrider, yes yes yes  – you know that Nicholas Cage movie; I was in awe at my flaming hand; fucking idiot. Like seriously, what the fuck was I thinking; oh yes I wasn’t.


In the words of my colleague the prophet Haggai – rum glorious rum, when I call yuh yuh bong to come...except I think this time around rum did the calling, I did the coming and my brain left...rum

Failure is not an option

It is either that I am getting numb to the feeling that follows failure - having experienced it too many times; or I have come to terms with the fact that it is a nromal part of life; yet another hurdle in this tumultuous existence that I must muster the fortitude to overcome.

Alas, I must confess I feel some what defeated, broken, down to my knees - worn from the battle scars; resigned to surrender. This battle has taken much from my - like wars of old, it has depleted me - left me questioning my resolve to press on; question my decision to trek down this path in the first place. As the battle wanes, the end in sight, the strength to carry on is fleeting - tenacity is the last leg on which I stand - faith gives me courage; to know that I am not given more than I can bare - and the knowledge that I am not in this alone.

Yes, failure is but another hurdle, a stumbling block to success, and as long as I do not succumb to the repeated pummelling of the agents of failure I have already succeeded. My destiny is mine and will not be taken from me; nor will it be determine by any force out side of me - success is mine.