Audacious was the term that guy used to describe me, the term I thought was a compliment but was not. I still do, he still doesn’t, I’m sure. That was the adjective of derision. The verb noun combo he liked to use for me, dissipate/dissipation, was all about the fact that I liked to smoke weed, another bad.
Bad was a word he knew well.
Sex and drugs, bad, rock and roll, one had to pick through carefully, there was bad there, for sure, but some good stuff, too. Lots of it, in fact, rocked, was great, awesome, one simply had to listen very hard for bad words, words that would give a song the assignation bad. Sex was good if one was making babies, bad if one was not, but it was a bad that could be forgiven if one was really sorry, and it was good if one was making babies no matter how much one party in the duo might not like it.
But drugs could be categorized as bad, no matter what, unless of course they were prescribed by one’s doctor and used as prescribed, no matter how abusive as prescribed might be, and no matter how much weed one had grown and consumed in one’s youth, that was Running With the Devil, and smoking weed was pure Dissipation.
And I was one hell of a dissipator, despite the fact that I worked like a slave for fifty or sixty hours a week, made straight A’s, did that science, published those papers, the fact that I took a few tokes a few times a day, well, more at the end, but throughout the day, that made me a dissipator.
That’s one of the words that shows up in the definition for dissipation. Squandering my resources, that’s what I was doing, going home at the end of the day, well, pretty significantly into night as often as not, and dissipating. As often as not, my thought as I sat there getting a buzz, more than likely enjoying a cold beer, too, was that if I had any resources left to dissipate away, it was pretty freaking amazing.
Maybe is was his own sexual debauchery that was the problem, although his sex seemed pretty normal to me, compared to the other men I’ve known, in the Biblical sense, and that was his sense on pretty much everything, the rule book for life. It was totally debauched in his mind, given we weren’t trying to make babies, or he sure as hell wasn't anyway, my own motives might have been kind of ambiguous, but I was pretty sure I couldn’t make them anyway, but it was pretty clear that he could, what with the half dozen he had at home.
No telling. Sometimes I wonder about my own motives, suspect most of us do, but then, I’m a debauched dissipator, so there’s no telling.
I wonder if the sexual debauchery led to the return to dissipation with the weed for him, or what. Because he started dissipating pretty regularly, too. Even took some home, for home dissipation, got a big kick out of offering up expertise in my growing efforts. He had it, the expertise.
Ah well, it’s 6 am on Sunday morning, another gorgeous day in New England, and there's lots of work to be done, joyous work.