Tuesday, March 15, 2005


Some antidotes are hard to swallow. But they treat us of our malaise.

I drank four cans of beer-- straight. And I know I'd be drinking some more. While I was indulging myself in the most popular form of self-inflicted torture, I realized that I wanted to get right down to the bottom. It tastes bitter and I guess some alcoholics and part-time alcoholics (a.k.a "social drinker") like me could see the solid metaphorical link between life and alcohol. You want to drink it all up fast. Straight to the bottom. One after the other. Wishing time would play fast forward after each bottle. Over and done with the moment--or the thought that bugs you at the eternal moment.

But instead it plays backward...to those precious minutes that you'd like to forget. And you know you can't forget by drinking. I only wish to pass out, and retreat to my sanctuary...where everything swirls and all I think about is how to keep my eyes open. Where I couldn't even think of why I drank in the first place. To be amused at my staged folly--and hear myself laugh.

It's makes you feel more of yourself when you feel like your spirit has left you. It makes you feel alive when everything reels--from bad to worse-- to hugging the toilet seat as you barf out your sentiments. It makes you feel a little better about being sober before you lifted the tab of your first beer. It makes you feel...that's the most important.

It's my birthday. And that was just it. Some girl's birthday. This is the antidote that I'd have to take today.

(March 14, 2005. 11:45 pm)

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