Last year, if you recall, during the master cleanse days, I was sober for a month and a half. Then one night I started to drink. It was because I was interning for The Stranger and writing for the music and nightlife blog and I was convinced that in order to write cool posts I needed to go out to the bars and drink. So I went out to Pioneer Square and I got one beer and then I took the ferry back to my parents’ house and wrote a blog post that was entirely underwhelming. Then about a week later I went to Linda’s with Barry and Darren where we were later met by Zack. We drank about six pitchers, though I drank probably two thirds less than everyone else because I was trying to drink as slowly as possible. Then we went to The Cha Cha Lounge and drank what must’ve been at least another four pitchers. By this time Darren had a euphoric expression on his face that looked like he had just been injected with horse tranquilizers, Zach was smoking cigarettes at regular intervals and Barry was, well, more or less the same.
Then about a week later I blacked out.
This is how it always happens when I start drinking again after a period of sobriety. I ease back into it: one night I’ll have a drink or two, the next night I’ll get tipsy and the night after that I’ll get completely shit-faced and wake up feeling guilty and nauseous. I can’t just stay at the one or two drink stage or even the tipsy stage. I need to feel what will happen when my body is pushed to the very upper limits of its ability to process alcohol. I need to feel what it’s like when my liver starts to grimace with pain and what it feels like to be wretchedly hungover. My body just needs to know.
Right now I’m entering that curious stage again. I’ve been sober for about three weeks and I’m bored out of my skull. I’m entertaining the thought of drinking tonight. I probably won’t, but I’m entertaining the idea. I want to have a few drinks because I think it might make my life more fun. I think it might lead to decadence and meeting loads of pretty girls. I think it might lead to the kinds of good times you see in the movies.
Which, of course, I know is not true.
All I need to think about right now is my history. Drinking has almost never lead to unexpected awesomeness for me. Granted, it HAS a few times, but far more often it has lead to unexpected awfulness. It has rarely lead to meeting strange and beautiful women that find me attractive; women seem to find me far less attractive when I’ve been drinking.
So there you have it. As much as it sucks, sober is the way to go. Better to be bored out of my skull than wallow in my self-loathing. Better to not expect to meet strange and beautiful women at all than to get my hopes only to have them dashed time and time again. Better to keep my head on my shoulders.
Right?
This entry was written by , posted on December 11, 2009 at 10:41 pm, filed under Uncategorized and tagged alcoholism, blackout, drinking, party, partying. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.