I’ve had a few bad days, three weeks to be exact. I use the NBA Playoffs as an excuse–I dash down to the bar, ingest whiskey neat, by the double. I’ve found myself running into troubles but it has no effect on me.
What affects me is the imbalance of serotonin, or Zoloft, or this strange lack of feelings and emotions.
So I drink a few nights a week, not more than three. The hangover doesn’t even seek me out anymore. It’s all so drab, until I grab that first and second and third shot.
Then there are my drinking buddies, my new friends mixed with the old. I get friends now, without the “old man”.
Time flies when you’re drunk and disorderly.
Feelings don’t matter when you’re drunk and disorderly.
Unfortunately I don’t black out anymore, when I’m drunk and disorderly.
“If you don’t remember it, it didn’t happen.” Dude, Where’s My Car
Nearly five months have flown by since my daily drinking subsided. I’m still rolling with all the punches life is providing.
I find myself waking up at houses of friends, new and old. Yesterday I had to take a personal day; an old nemesis flattened my tire and I couldn’t find my jack; All I could do was laugh.
It’s been such a strange coping mechanism.
Time flies when fun can only be found in a bottle; Life goes on when you’re drunk and disorderly.