Forcing myself to read the Chinese newspaper when I go to the library is like sadomasochism for one. So when I find an interesting book in the stacks, it's easy to allow the temptation. At the closest public library (there are four within walking distance (under two miles)), I'm reading Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence by Karen Armstrong.

It falls under world history among categories of reads that interest me; perhaps specifically human developmental history or human cultural evolution. It's a fascinating read that sweeps through various historical cultures in broad strokes, describing the relation between religiosity and violence.

Religion and violence, of course, go hand-in-hand, but the book is very well-researched and offers perspectives that aren't obvious nor common knowledge. There's room for disagreement, but she provides plenty of food for thought. I'd definitely recommend it.

Actually religion and violence don't "of course" go hand-in-hand, you still need human nature in the equation. You can just as easily say that economics and violence go hand-in-hand, and the same with politics and ideology. None of those, including religion, are inherently violent by nature or intent. Just add human nature and the potential for violence arises whenever conflict occurs and a clear "other" can be identified.

Despite reading the Chinese newspaper without understanding it being tedious and boring as hell (hard to stay awake), I'm only allowing reading books one at a time at any particular library. So when I go to one of the other three libraries, I have to read the newspaper. Only when I finish a book can I start another one at any library. Dumb rules I make for myself.

Summer ended rather quickly. I don't specifically remember how it's been in previous years (except perhaps one with a typhoon), but I'm sure this is how it typically is. I'm sure I probably mentioned it before, too.

What happens is the heat hits wet weather around this time of year (typhoon obviously qualifies), temperatures drop with the rain and *bam* thereafter it's clearly autumn. It's very sudden that the fan isn't on all the time, shirts are worn at home, and showers need an infusion of warmer water. More gradual are the window closing bit by bit, dressing in layers and moving under the covers to sleep.

I know I've mentioned before how I find it odd during Taipei summers that it's completely unimaginable how cold the winters get, and during the winter it's totally out of mind that summers are unbearably hot. This is the transition period, what happens between the heat and the cold. A lot of laundry gets done. That happens in the spring, too.

Distractions, distractions. Every day is all about distractions. Distraction conveyor belt to get from day to day.

Useless distractions; no running or cycling because even though I'm curious about the effect cutting back on drinking has had on those activities, doing those things might give me the impression that I've accomplished something. That I've done something not completely useless.

Reading Chinese is useless. That's OK. Watching lots and lots of videos on YouTube, which although enjoyable is utterly useless and is supposed to be reminding me how insubstantial and ethereal and empty such enjoyments are.

Not saying anything bad about that. There's nothing wrong with feeling good or even inspired in certain ways. Just remember to keep things in perspective and that none of it is anything I call real.

It's raining. It hasn't rained like this in quite a while. Nothing unusual, even this non-stop for days rain. It emphasizes that this summer can be characterized as having been rather dry, as opposed to summers where it rains every afternoon.

Sparse typhoon season, too. I think only two typhoons hit Taiwan. A one-two punch a few months ago, one right after the other with a strange sunny (but windy) day in Taipei between them. One went right across the island and the other swept up it; a hook and an uppercut. The destruction was typical, not disastrous.

Yesterday was the first day I woke up and checked the thermometer and it was below 80 degrees. That's autumn cooling in Taiwan! Air conditioning has been off for several weeks now. Fan is still on almost all the time. Sometimes I'll turn it off, only to turn it back on in short order.

The nature of my self-distractions to get from day to day has changed since cutting back on drinking and the resultant clarity. For one, I've stopped reading books I'm interested in at public libraries and I've gone back to reading a Chinese newspaper that has the phonetic pronunciation next to each character.

It's a newspaper for students, both native children whose knowledge of Chinese characters is still growing and foreigners here to learn the language. For me to read this newspaper is an exercise in pointlessness.

I consider my Chinese language learning at an end and having ended in failure. The point in reading this newspaper is to rub it in how much of a failure I've been in learning the language.

I can run my eyes over the words, some of which I can read and understand from previous studies, and know how to pronounce them because of the phonetics, but for most part I don't understand articles as a whole.

It further confounds me that after years of earnest study, how I can know so little? With what kind of further study could I have gotten to the point where I could read this newspaper? And I can't imagine even a lifetime's effort having me reading Chinese without the phonetics.

Basically I'm just tormenting myself, reminding myself that there is no effort that is worth it or will come to any fruition. Having suicide as a goal and death as the only thing worth learning about is all there is. There is no excuse for the distractions and pretending they are anything else than distraction, i.e., a waste.

The most sobering part of sobriety may be the clarity. Well, after the not drinking all the time thing.

It's not that I wasn't clear-thinking-ish when constantly drinking. I felt I was thinking clearly, and if I wasn't I was at least subjectively thinking clearly enough. But certainly sense reality as a whole took on a muddled or muted feel, amenable to distraction.

Since cutting back on drinking, I've been trying to alter my daily existence to stop being a distraction-to-distraction conveyor belt from day to day. It's still a work in progress. Can't say a particularly successful one, though.

As a grandmaster of distraction, all I've done so far is switch out my old daily distractions with new ones. That's not a total fail, as I tell myself that at least I wasn't attached to those distractions as a way of being. Also, the changes may be seen as first steps to further changes. Like pulling myself out of quicksand.

Ultimately, I'm trying to get focused on the task at hand; what I want to do, what I keep saying is the purpose of my life and where I've led it. Cutting back on drinking, increased sobriety lead to focus on ending this life, this manifestation. Move on already.

There's a frustration that alcohol has been muting all these years. Drinking less allows me to be more acutely aware of it. So I decide to soberize because I realized drinking isn't going to kill me, and that leads to clarity about the frustration that I'm still alive and the need to focus on suicide as the goal. I can't figure out if that's ironic or logical.

The worst thing the distractions do is fool me into feeling like I'm doing something worthwhile or personally productive. That feeling, for most part, shuttles me from day to day. Laziness contributes, too. Too lazy to commit suicide. Never having encountered the external "unbearable" is also part of it. Nothing particularly or immediately compelling to commit suicide has led to complacency. Never been tested.

So why is it now, this time's newfound clarity that is suddenly compelling? I could rattle off a whole bunch of reasons, but they're the same reasons, I'm sure, that I've been citing for years, if not decades. Actually yes, decades.

I have no reason to believe that I won't be alive in six months' time back to drinking a bottle a day.

And that's the point where I shut up because it becomes a theoretical, abstract stream of thought. I really want to focus this time, I really want to do it, but I've said and done this over and over before. It's an incredibly consistent internal dialogue that has become like a recurring nightmare.

And I want to say something is different this time, but I've said that over and over, too. Something's gotta be different this time. I've probably said that before, too.