I do some of my best writing (by best I mean honest) when I’m piss drunk and sad.  Drunk and sad usually go hand in hand for me.  That’s one reason why I decided to quit.  I’ve been mostly on point with the exception of Saturday.  That’s when I popped open a bottle of Knob Hill and wrote this.

Don’t Stop Drinking

You want to stop drinking for obvious reasons.  Drinking is bad for your health, you have more energy without it, you argue less, accomplish more.  It makes sense to give it up.  You don’t really like to drink.

Don’t give up drinking my friends and let me tell you why.  You will become boring to the people who love you most and they will feel isolated from you.  They’ll call you righteous.  Night clubs will not be any fun.  You will become all work and no play.  All work makes Jack a dull boy.  (I am not being sarcastic.  I am drinking bourbon now.)

Last night I went to the opening of a new venue on Eerie called Public Works.  It was my first night out since I decided to give up drinking a week ago.   I wasn’t drinking because I wanted to keep a clear head.  The epiphanies I had while at my Vipassana retreat fueled my desire for sobriety.  I wanted to be present, not reactive.  I wanted to have an even better relationship with Keenan.  Sometimes we fight when I drink.

But last night I had zero drinks.  I wanted to pull a quick in-and-out.  No reason to hang at a gallery opening after discourse on every piece if not to drink the free wine.  But my friend wanted to stay, to drink, and so I became the dreaded “Debby Downer.”

Friends, you cannot expect support in not drinking… unless you want to become a cad in AA or some religious zealot.  Those zealots will support you, not the beautiful friends you have now.  Go ahead, give up drinking.  Say bye-bye to the ones who have loved you most.


Last night I dreamed I had wrinkles, gargantuan, cavernous wrinkles.  Especially the one on my forehead, the one I actually have now.  It was gaping.  Gaping and heavy.

I’m thinking about this now because I’m putting on make-up at the moment.  Technically at the moment because I keep walking back-and-forth back-and-forth to write this.

It’s funny I was drinking and crying before.  I still am drinking but now, after the make-up I look sober, happy even.  Make-up is a wonderful wonderful thing.

I bet all kinds of girls are out there right now crying their eyes out, blazed as shit and they’re beautiful.  The most beautiful girls ever.  Thank you make-up.

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So now it’s Monday.  I’ve maintained sobriety for 2 days.  I never really thought giving up booze would be so hard.  I feel guilty about writing that I think people in AA are cads but Saturday, that’s what I thought, because that’s the way I felt about my previously sober self.  Now that I’m sober again, I realize more than ever how brave recovered alcoholics are.   I made it 17 days before I broke the first time and it wasn’t the decision to have fun that brought the bottle to my lips, it was sadness and loneliness.

I  attended a Chili Cook-off earlier in the day and came home feeling frustrated that I had not danced or carried on enthusiastic conversation with strangers, met with my usual quota of laughter.  I attributed this to my decision not to drink.  I was frustrated, I saw myself as a downer, righteous, boring.  Weekends are the hardest.

I was worried about posting this at first.  I don’t want to propagate my sadness or cause you to worry about my well-being but I do think my feelings and my struggle are valid.  I’m not perfect.  I think it’s OK to say so.


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