The old electric skull meat is not firing at full capacity, at the moment. Lack of sleep compiled with a rebalancing of chemicals has left my mental quandaries in a vague haze of inexplicable sways. The cost of celebrating the official romantic union of dear friends, multiplied by the exhaustion of making musical racket in a crowded room as part of the post nuptial merriment.

Lost my voice in the rabblerousing, along with the coherence of analytical thought. Though both are but temporary conditions.

Crushed it, though. Nothing quite like a bar half filled with the Celtic sort of folk singing along in a warm and deafening roar.

But in the inspiration of discipline, I shall attempt to squeeze some philosophical ponderings from the bar rag I currently call a consciousness.

The weight of obligation coinciding with the dull edge of my cerebral prowess has allowed the occasional feeling of being overwhelmed to slide into forefronts and backgrounds of the thinking I’ve been stirring upon the day. Much of which needs a full nocturnal reset before attempting the protocols of ascension. I have near bled the stone of the day dry, but I’ll purge it still of whatever is left in there to throttle.

Every wedding make me mull about the company of my own failures, though the drink and dance tend to keep them away until the small hours of morning, or upon the emergence of the next dawn. Many a dear plutonic relation of consistency in my life argues away from the blame I place at my own feet. But that’s what good friends are for. But I know what I’ve seen and said and done, and know my role within them all. And, from where I’m sitting, there is only one constant variable in the whole experiment. The very same sentience who crafts these perspective experiments is also the same factor in each of my flawed interactions.

How could it not be me? I’m the only person that has been in any of these affairs I have conducted in my own existence. And many (most) of the otherwise participants have seem to found a constant companion in their forward march down the timeline of human existence. Of my many faults, I can regularly never claim ignorance in the immediate or long term. Even if not at the moment, I eventually see what role was played by this current narrator. Mix that with doses of regimented narcissism, you could conjure illusions of influence to rival an Achaemenid head of state.

But surely, so much could not be within the realm of control a puny mortal might manage to gain jurisdiction over. And any arguing to the contrary may stem from the inverse apprehension being the actual prominent force. The underlying and overwhelming fear that damn near nothing is under the direct influence of any particular human. That existence is being at the mercy of forces little understood, if at all. Trends and force either crushing or uplifting the would-be great men. Humans. Or that at best we can be little more than opportunists, going along with the estuary as it unfolds.

This, of course, is how I can be when hungover. Which I currently am. This may all appear as incoherent blabber upon the revitalization of mind and body. Though I don’t think I can throw away any of the points made, not without at least a mild debate. But in the current state, this pile of horseshit is what I seem able to manage. As I recommit to a weekly session, which isn’t bad for a guy with historical issues in the area.

Still, by luck or by choice- I managed an excellent retainer of friends. And have been fortunate enough to share in the celebration in what are generally considered to be monument days and phases of life.

So, I’ve got that going for me, which is nice. I’ll work on squaring away all the rest of it with a fresher mind.