I think I'll have a Drink

Number Three

          I didn't write an essay last week because I was drunk.  Not the entire week.  From about the middle of last week, until about the middle of this one.  (Have I mentioned the alcoholism).  It does make for a convenient and easily composed intro, though, doesn't it?

          As long as the alcoholism is already in there, I suppose I might as well use it as subject matter.  Whenever I relapse, it causes a setback in my forward progress through life.  This, in turn causes me to feel a sense of loss (of time), which I must then spend an additional measure of time to accept the loss and move on; to get back to figuring out how to most effectively enjoy my life.  The question is, is it worth it?  The answer is, not really.  Or, if you like, kind of... sometimes.

          If I decide to celebrate or, in the same vein, wallow in misery for an evening and a night.  I'm not talking about drinking to excess, I'm talking about annihilation.  I, eventually, wake up hungover the edge of the abyss.  I power through this God-awful morning and day and evening after.  Maybe I even get something done.  I don't lose sleep over that.  Were I to spend a lifetime drinking mild to moderately, with only occasional nights of excess followed by mornings of mild to moderate hangovers... in that case, I wouldn't lose sleep.  What I do is obliterate my body and mind for nearly a week, spend three days in the condition of cancer patient undergoing chemo, and then another three days mourning the loss of the previous nine.  And here's the kicker.  Once it's over, I don't feel bad about it having happened.  Not because it's in the past and needn't be dwelt upon, though that is true, but rather, I don't feel that bad about it because it's a vast improvement compared to a couple of years ago.

          I've got a long way to go, sure.  But I have come so very far.  And I haven't stopped.  I'm genuinely proud of that.



I think I'll have a drink!