When I was in high school, one of my favorite things to do was go dancing at Confetti’s. They were an underage club that played “alternative” music on Sundays and Thursday nights (not the prime nights, because suburban goth kids were not where the money was at). We would, when possible, score some acid before heading to the club.
The drive from Oregon City to 2nd ave downtown, where the club was (or to the City Nightclub, which was in NW, and scarier) about 30-40 minutes. Longer if we had to pick people up on the way. There used to be this brake shop on Grand Ave, about 3/4 of the way to the club that had this small, yellow letterboard sign. For all of high school it said, only “ARE YOU SLIPPING?” And that sign was my check in point. Almost to dancing, was I slipping yet? Was the acid kicking in? Was the pot-high a mellow high or hyper high? Or was I all ringy because we hadn’t gotten anything at all and would have to deal with the dingy reality of the club without any edge-blurring enhancement.
Anyway, I’ve now forgotten to post twice. Last night I was up late waiting for M to arrive in Phoenix, so I have an excuse, if I need one, though I don’t necessarily believe I do. Am I slipping, then? In that more adult, sober, boring kind of way? Are my resolutions–small, tentative, and insignificant, but still mine–falling from my mind? When I quit smoking, my support group called failing back into habit a “slip.” Am I, then, falling back into the lack of a habit?
Are you slipping?