Posts tagged with "alcohol"

leave the bottle

I needed to feel a dif­fer­ent pain. I needed to reassert myself. I needed to change my body from the one he knew.

I’ve been killing it. Nights that bleed into morn­ing, pots of cof­fee, retail ther­apy, English ales that drink like meals. The blood doesn’t faze me any­more. Instead of slowly slip­ping down the spi­ral, I’ve decided to fall all the way so I can climb back up.

Sometimes you have to tear your­self down before you can start rebuilding.

hair of the dog

I wish Trolley was here so we could play Starcraft 2 like we did when we lived on Island Park. I’d set up my lap­top in his room — he’d have a beer and I’d have a joint — and we’d spend hours against some com­put­ers in Warcraft 3. Or he’d surf the web and lis­ten to music while I wrote in this blog, shar­ing the apart­ment with his kitty and mine.

Those were the sum­mers of No Motiv and Coheed and Cambria. The win­ters of Bel Canto and The Dears. I remem­ber being happy then.

I wish Aaron and Trolley were here so we could get really, really drunk, even though I don’t drink any­more. Only when I wake up in the mid­dle of the night, and all the thoughts I’ve been push­ing into the back of my head come claw­ing out, leav­ing me with a rest­less mind. I pour a glass of Bailey’s on the rocks and prac­tice scales until the alco­hol makes me fall asleep again.

One time, we went to the Honest Lawyer to cel­e­brate Aaron’s birth­day. In our drunken haze, we thought it’d be a good idea to order some pizza when we got back to my apart­ment (there was a pizze­ria right out­side the side door). Aaron hurled in the gar­den rocks as we were wait­ing for the order. We brought him in, and gave him a pil­low and towel cause he wanted to sleep in the bath­room. He told me later, “I only get that drunk when I’m really depressed”. Sounds good to me.

I wish my friends were here so we could drink like the old days, when we were between school and work, and women.

Pictures of White People Laughing

Playing shots and ladders

Thumbnail: Karaoke crowd
Thumbnail: Bill takes a swig during Karaoke
Thumbnail: Karaoke duet
Thumbnail: Skyy Vodka
Thumbnail: Duet kiss
Thumbnail: Guitar karaoke
Thumbnail: Tray of jello shooters
Thumbnail: He laughs
Thumbnail: Hors D'oeuvres
Thumbnail: Jello shooting
Thumbnail: Doubled over in laughter
Thumbnail: Jello wet will
Thumbnail: Ginger the cat gives me a kiss
Thumbnail: Laughing party
Thumbnail: Shirley plays Rock Band
Thumbnail: Rock Band shot
Thumbnail: Singing faces
Thumbnail: Snoopy the cat
Thumbnail: She laughs on the couch
Thumbnail: Underwear check

Also known as a drink­ing party at Shirley’s.

This is how I learn that peo­ple have a good time when there’s at least one per­son will­ing to make a fool of him­self, because it sets the tone for every­one else.

That being young is to be young at heart. That to be young at heart is to laugh deep and laugh regularly.

And that it never hurts to have alco­hol to help facil­i­tate the process.

Self-Restraint: Tensility

Some peo­ple turn to pills and things
To help them through the day
To take them up or down or just
To ease the blues away
But me I really want to feel
The ups and downs of life so real
Happy or sad emo­tions reign
My tears flow just the same

—Lamb, I Cry

I had been try­ing to write this for nearly a month, but couldn’t get it down until I really lis­tened to the lyrics of I Cry on the walk home past the power lines. I decided to split this up into two sep­a­rate entries, after real­iz­ing that I have two sim­i­lar ideas in my head, but two very dis­tinct issues. Perhaps it just took a few extra rough days of work to force me to think about this. All the things falling apart that I have to fix, respon­si­bil­i­ties, dead­lines, and tons of other mis­cel­la­neous things are def­i­nitely mak­ing me think of ways to get the ten­sion out of my arms and shoulders.

Sometimes, when I come home, all I want to do is get piss drunk or mind­lessly stoned. Maybe go reck­lessly buy a bunch of things I don’t need, to make myself feel bet­ter for that lit­tle amount of time. Sometimes I just feel like doing some­thing irra­tional, even though I have no idea what or why, sim­ply because I believe it would get my mind of things. And yet I don’t do any of this, espe­cially when I’m hav­ing a par­tic­u­larly bad day, because I don’t want to be depen­dent on anything.

I don’t want to rely on nar­cotics, or mate­r­ial goods, or self-mutilation, or any­thing at all to make myself feel bet­ter. I want to be sure that I can han­dle things, no mat­ter what, on my own. I force myself to feel every stress­ful, mis­er­able, for­lorn emo­tion, so that I know that I can get through them.

Sometimes, every day can be a test. Music and writ­ing are the only things that I allow myself.

And some­times I have to tell myself that it’s enough.