My name is Blindjim and I'm a tube-a-holic.
I haven't tubed today... by the grace of God
… but it’s early.
For years I hid my tubing. Resisting by will power alone. Hiding my affliction and sticking vehemently it to SS, yet things were always somehow lacking. I always felt less than. A part from. Unfulfilled. I shunned any idea that tubeing was my true self, and hence remained restless irritable, and discontented.
I stayed in the closet of my own denial. Locked up in a prison I had made for myself where all the locks were on the inside and I had lost the keys.
I held off just as long as I could.
Then, one day someone told me about Audiogone and soon thereafter I found out just how exciting enveloping and satisfying tubing can be. I became engrossed and severely affected by tubing. To the point where I had lost all control.
I would tube in the evening to all hours. Eventually, I would tube first thing in the morning… and sadly, one day, I could no longer help myself and began to tube alone.
In the office. In the bedroom. Yes, sadly, even in the garage.
Nothing else mattered. I had to tube. There was no other choice.
I couldn’t be satisfied with just one tube. Oh, no. I had to have another, and another, and another! It’s always that first tube that does it! I could no longer help myself. I then had to tube whatever the cost!
I was miserable. I hated myself. At every turn I wanted to try some other exotic tube thinking that would be the one! That would do the trick! I’d be satisfied finally. Such was never the case. One exotic tube led to another, and another….
I needed help. Desperately. Or I would surely be lost forever to my disease..
Then one day I found that help. It was right in front of me the whole time and I didn’t see it at all. It was my higher power so to speak…. It was my PC.
It gave me that peace I had lost. The variety that was long since gone. Fidelity rivaling that of my analog dreams. Happiness had returned to me. No longer was I in the grip of the small glass devils compelling me to do more, and more to the exclusion of all else.
No more burned fingers, bent pins, worries of catastrophe from wacked bottles. No more hiss, noise, and hour counting. Peace had returned.
I may tube again. Someday. Perhaps. But just for today I won’t.
I shouldn’t. I won’t. I can’t. It’s too devastating.
Who am I kidding…. I have no will power any longer and I’m doomed.
I want to tube so bad I can taste it.
But I’ll just tube a little. Just a couple hours… not couting warm up time. Just a day or two a week maybe. Yeah. That’ll do it. Just now and then! Sure. There’s nothing wrong with that right? Other’s can, so why not me?
Geeezzz…. It’s not the tubes… it’s me. It’s just me. OK then, I give up. Yeah… I give… maybe that’s a start. Knowing it’s me… not the tubes, to begin with.
Afterall, there are other’s who know this sort of pain and frustration, I’m sure. Maybe we can help each other. Together. One day at a time.
I did think about taking up whittling, but I'm the sort that can turn a Redwood into drum sticks.