The devil makes work for idle hands.

My wife and kids went on a ladies expedition last night, getting schoolware 6 weeks in advance, so I stayed at home. Alone time started at 5:30 pm and it was a long, long evening.

Introspection began and a fidgety mindset kicked in.

It's quite strange really, when I was gambling the only thing I sought was solitude, and I always found it on the sofa, in the front room with the laptop and television on some sporting event or At the Races. I did this for years, a hermit in a bubble of angst and despair. I only emerged to smoke and shit, manufacture a verbal skirmish, and then return to my refuge.

The other place I found solitude in the past was the bookies, even if full of people, it's full of empty people, alone, no one speaks, just a casual grunt of recognition, and then back into the mental foxhole, watch the races, lose more, feel ones spirit ebb like a spring tide, the last race signifying the last bet, the nadir, and the imminent journey home that I hoped would never end.

Now I fear solitude, I hate being alone for too long and 4 hours is too long for me at the moment. I sat down and flicked the remote, ended up on At the Races within 4 channel changes, as my default channel was 415 for years, I dwelt on it for about 30 seconds and moved on. That's all it took, 30 seconds and I wanted to bet, I wanted to fire up this laptop and have a bet. The urge passed and I moved on. It's the first urge to bet I've had in some weeks and it was easy to deny. It was easy to deny because I carry no money, I have a Visa Debit card, but that is for a joint account that has the exact quantity needed for monthly bills and debt repayment with a small surplus for use in case of emergency. My wife puts the rest into an account that only she has access to, and I'm so glad. It's easy not to bet with no money.

It's hard to recognise the fuck up I've become, I can't even be trusted to function as a proper human should. I'm in need of an operating system change, an upgrade from Wanker 9.0 to Decent human being 1.0.

I try to give myself some succour by recognising that I am trying to change 25 years of behaviour in a couple of months and that's difficult. It's also bullshit.

I'm a compulsive gambler, that makes me a liar, a thief, a derelict husband, a derelict father, a derelict son and brother, a narcissistic prick that made the world revolve about himself for 25 years. I say I'm all the above because I'm a compulsive gambler, but deep down I rally think I'm a compulsive gambler because I'm all of the above. Chicken and egg, but the egg is rotten.

My name is Paddy, I'm a compulsive gambler, I still have not had a bet today or since my last post, I'm still sick.

Risk and reward.

I've always associated risk and reward as inseparable as yin and yang, as Cheech and Chong, or as The Fonz and latent homosexuality.

The rewards I envisaged as long as I can remember were always grandiose and fantastical, the castle in the sky, infinite wealth, eternal happiness, yada, yada, yada.

Rewards can be small, but significant.

Waking up in the morning without a shroud of dread and despair is a reward.
Looking at my wife and kids without the angst of deceit is a reward.
Re establishing relationships with my family is a reward.
Starting a financial plan is a reward, the duration is long, but the load is bearable.
Looking in the mirror and noticing I need to shave, rather than needing to self immolate is a reward.
Not dreading the postman is a reward.
Being able to think without the entropic distractions of mental chaos is a reward.
Taking a day off to spend with my brother, father or youngest is a reward.
Closing a post to this blog with a smile of contentment, rather than a tear of desperation is a reward,

My name is Paddy, I'm a compulsive gambler, I have not had a bet today or since my last post.