Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

There's a feeling I sometimes get before going to a party. This sensation that I'm about to step into a den of lions, where I have no control. Where there is a possibility, though sometimes faint, that I'll be eaten alive.

I've always been fairly big on comfort zones. I like knowing my surroundings, spotting all the emergency exits, finding my allies in the crowd. Not having these things makes me nervous, not just for comfort reasons but also for safety.

Then came Saturday. I had been invited to a party, and when I called for directions I was informed that the event was already in full swing, that it was already insane. I still had the same feeling of danger, but this time, I was excited. I know a big part of this was that I was taking with me some familiarity in human form (hello there, Maggs). But I could sense something new: namely, that I was actually hoping for a lion's den this time.

I met someone last month who, through a series of conversations and interactions, really changed the way I look at some of the darker parts of this life — sex, drugs, violence, power, death — and how all these things are intertwined. I've been thinking a lot about the ways sex and violence can be as finely separated as love and hate, how there are power plays still at hand in both that aren't as apparent in other, less primal aspects of modern human life.

I've started to speculate quite seriously about whether I should try some harder drugs, before content to not take the risk, but suddenly wondering what I am missing. I feel boring being your ordinary law-abiding citizen, and a part of me knows that I would have, if nothing else, a much more interesting memoir to write later if I was doing more to run afoul of the law or even just common decency.

My thoughts have been focusing so wholly on hedonism lately, but a dark, scary brand of it. On the pure pleasure derived from being in altered states, on the endorphin-induced high produced from being hit hard enough to leave ruddy and sometimes deep violet bruises that last for days, on giving over control to persons and substances outside of myself. And while I hate to mark anything as always destructive — I prefer to go on a case-by-case basis when deciding if I person's habits are truly detrimental — these thoughts are so consuming lately, I have to wonder if they are healthy. William Blake did write that “The road to excess leads to the palace of wisdom”, which is a thought I certainly see myself relating to. However, he also wrote that “You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough”, and that gives me no comfort, because I'm truly not sure if I haven't already crossed my own invisible line.