You kinda gotta step back a few when you’re finding empty bottles of booze in crevices around your main functioning area. I found two wine bottles in my pile of clothes and one vodka in the basement closet beside some shoeboxes.
I found one bottle under my bed and another stuffed in my underware drawer.
I only remember putting some of them where I found them.
Well now they’re all in my recycle bin ready for glass blowers to make something beautiful out of the disaster they were making me.
I’m guzzling down soda water as if it’s gonna fill me up with helium and float me off to EvertheNever Land.
I’m in the beginning process of trying to stop drinking booze.
I don’t normally tell people what my plan is;whether it’s to lose five pounds, to spend 100 bucks a month on clothing instead of 300 or to be a better person.
I just do it.
For I find intimidation in revealing an attempt.
As if vulnerablity is my own failure.
But this time around,
I don’t really care.
Which is kind of bad.
I don’t really think my heart is in it.
It musn’t be.
a’guzzlin I shall go.
I move the three inch bottle from my purse to my left open sleeve.
I am sitting beside my younger brother who is sitting beside my father who is sitting beside his mom-my 85 year old grandmother- who doesn’t know who we are.
I am in church.
And I take my wrist and i scratch my neck and Idon’t really care how obvious it is. I want it. So I drink a shot of whatever is in the bottle: vodka,rum,spiced something black licorcie?
I am seeing my fathers brother-my 58 year old Uncle- on the pulpit. But I do not hear what he is saying.
I am thinking about my parents attic. And the entrance to it in my mothers room. ( because my parents sleep in seperate rooms )
I am thinking about how
I mixed vodka with wine earlier.Because I was desperate for potency.
Look at all these ‘I’s. All about me eh. I’ve always been a selfish person. Prooved that in every fricken relationship I ever had.
It’s terrible really .
And I think too,
I will stop caring about the dynamic between my son and my mother.
Let it be votile. Let he be raised wrong. Let it be out of my hands. It will never change from what it is. She will not change. She is 61.
She is raising him like she raised us.
And we’re all sucks and let her do the dishes and drive us places and she bends like a grass blade in 0 mile an hour wind.
And I really do wonder about it. And before I google or youtube or roosterdock it,
I like to get my thoughts out and in order and figured and oh, who am i kidding. They don’t get figured out.
well, age. And drinking. I’m almost 27 and I drink daily and well, I just wonder if that’s what it’s like for the rest of the almost 27 year old family. Well. any few years above or below that. Oh. That sounds like I’m beliddling the low. But I’m not. I assure you.
In this generation, do we, are we.. like this?
Is it the year of the drink and the year of this is what makes us happy and what all the people around us are doing so we do it. and sometimes it goes beyond a night out but during the day and by day i mean morning. Is this what it is like? Does it stop? Is it a worrysome feature in our life? Or is it a clickerton. Where you hit 30 and BAM you’re off the rocks and vod and Monday morning doesn’t mean a ceaser with your bacon. Is THAT what happens?
Well, I don’t know. I know that I drink a lot. But I’m not afraid of it. Maybe I should be. I know it means I have some issues I’m not dealing with. Somedays I think, okay, my mind should really be clear for all of this. To think of stop drinking altogether. But then I think why.
I drink instead of eat and maintain a good weight because of it. So you know, that’s a nice.
I’ve never been overweight and maybe at this age, this is my diet. And it works decently enough.
Or maybe I’m just drunk and I have no idea what I’m talking about.
thoughts and sayings, come from SOMEWHERE. ALL the time. It doesn’t matter how absurd it seems. Everything
comes from somewhere.
Even what you’re thinking about as you read this.
You drunk soul you.
You go to a five stages,three day camping festival event and you come back feeling like you were on a euphoric emotional high two of the three days and you understand that it’s been 5 years since you’ve been around that many English speaking people at once and that it is your first time you have ever even experienced bands and people and closeness the way that you did.
You see the tents come down and the piles of garbage bags and the dust from the cars driving out.
You arrive home and you play a song from the CD you bought of one of the bands you saw-one of the members of that band you went to public school with and whose mother taught you in grade 6.
And you cry.
It’s not a drop of the system. It’s not happy slid into a hole of sad. It’s an overwhelming mixture of memories and time and realization. That you just experienced all that. And the photos run your heart wild and before you fully understand,you’re craving to do more of things like this.
You can have lived on the other side of the world for years, visited multiple countries and drove through 90% of the states in America; but when your travel bug has gone mute, it is mere evidence that something will take it’s place.
Maybe you won’t figure what’s supposed to fill it up right away. But something will.
It might click when you’re dancing in a great furious next to a girl that you met 12 hours ago, or when you’re in a group of 7, having lost the three people you knew. It might click when you get home and your heart yearns to do it all over again.
To start an addiction of something new, because of a space that held something old.
Oh, that is a marvelous life particle to have obtained!