“Look Ma! No hangover!”

November 30, 2008 at 12:00 pm (Drunk and disorderly, The Easy Chair)

As predicted, I woke up feeling better this morning. I rarely get the urge to drink anymore, but when I do I have to go into extreme alcohol-defense overload.

Typically when I get the urge it’s no-contest. At best, I set a drinking date that doesn’t conflict with work and go for it immediately after work. I’ll have a bottle at home, and my first stop will be one of the bars downtown where they know me. I am pals with a lot of heavy-handed bartenders.  A tumbler full of whiskey washed down with a pounder of pale ale makes for a much more entertaining bus ride home.

As ‘they’ say, “Quitting drinking’s easy, I’ve done it a thousand times.” (I probably have.) It’s not starting again that’s a bitch. It’s tough, because in my narrowly-focused mind alcohol is the only answer to the dilemma at hand.

I suppose if the desire was truly there I’d have called in sick tomorrow already, and this would be much less coherent. That’s another thing; my writing suffers when I drink. What sounds funny as hell in my brain doesn’t translate into written word, and I wake up to a jumbled mess. I’ve found writing to be much more of a release these days. I take my aggressions out on a keyboard, and my brain feels more alive afterward. The words ‘brain’ and ‘alive’ don’t coexist when I drink.

As I laid in bed last night, I got the sweats and shakes. I haven’t had a drop since the end of May, so this seemed weird. Just now, as I started doing the math, I realized it’s been exactly six months since I’ve partaken. My brain may not realize it, but my body knows what time it is: Happy Hour!

The funky brown cloud has blown over. I feel like getting out this morning. I have a plan. Mizelle is back to work, after maternity leave and many vacations around the world. I’m meeting her at the airport later for Scrabble and coffee, something we used to do on a weekly basis. We’d find a quiet corner, and it’d be just the two of us, scheming how to best conquer the world while pondering words that have “Q” without “U” in them.

That sounds like just what I need right now.


  1. gee-no said,

    tsaddiq: In Judaism, a term bestowed upon the righteous.

    qat: A kind of Arabian shrub used as a narcotic.

    coq: A trimming of cock feathers on a woman’s hat.

    “I soon realized that after I had consumed the qat, I was beginning to feel a wee bit tsaddiq, so I adjusted my coq with glee, and walked with a new purpose.”

  2. beastard said,

    Thanks, Mr G. My coq is sportin’ feathers, and I’m never without purpose!

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