Before you get the idea that my...ahem...grandeur is as a result of "so many plates, so little time", allow me to disabuse you of that notion.
I'm a binge drinker.
Ooooh, how I love that first sip of beer, and all 7,032 subsequent sips. And look! I have people all around me, socializating and nattering away about the important and not so important news of the day. Wheeee! Let's have another round! Oh, I'm sorry that your boss is a cretinous beastie, tell me all about it. Barkeep! I'll have...oh I dunno...a Guinness and oh! a double Jameson's with that and my friend here will have another. Hi Krista! I loooove that skirt, where did you...? OK, yeah, great, I'll have another. Sweet Jesus, did you see that? Here comes the highlight reel. I'm sorry? Sure, maybe one more...
(3 hours later)
But, but, no, like, no seriously, I'm a really ni-ni-nish pershon and so are YOU! No, no, ok, like, oh my god, are you, like, KIDDING ME! Ok,ok, listen, LISTEN, LISTEN to me!! You and, like, him are like, fuck...
(*crash*). I'm ok! I'm ok! No, seriously, I'm totally fine. I'm so...where did my drink go?
Yeah, you can just imagine the pretty, huh? And if I'm really lucky, if all the stars are aligned just so, I'll even start to cry. Over just about anything.
"But that was my favourite lipstick!" (sniff)
"I'm so useless I'll probably get fired." (gulp)
"Why aren't you holding my hand?" (WAAAAAH!!)
Once upon a time, in the halycon days of youth, I would get to a certain point and stop. In mid beverage if necessary. I worked in bars for years and never, EVER, wanted to be THAT woman at the bar that starts off ok and then rapidly descends into a female version of Jabba the Hutt. And I held out for the longest time and remained a civilized drinker, decorum intact. And then my firewall came down a couple of years ago and WHAM, bring me Han Solo and the Wookie.
Do I drink because I'm depressed? No, not that I'm aware of. I suppose if we all sat around and thought, and I mean really thought of all the stuff we could be depressed about we'd all be basket cases. But no, I don't think myself a depressed person. Do I drink to loosen me up, to help with the unburdening of the days travails? Hmmm, that's interesting...I'd hafta say yes, that there has been the thought of "Oh dear Christ, I so need a drink" round about 4 o'clock when a particularly heinous day is just about over but...not...quite. I've thought it, but frankly rarely do I follow through (there is only one bar I go to in my neighborhood and nobody speaks to me there, which brings me to....)
If I happen to go to a bar with a friend, or back to my old watering hole in my old neighborhood, then it is drinking time. I'm having a good time and I'm around people and I don't want it to end and I will stay until, by law, I can't. Because I drink to give myself a break from being alone. No, no, don't suddenly go all "Awww!" on me. I am by myself, certainly not by choice, but I'm comfortable with me and don't get attacked too often by the lonelies. But when I do, a-drinking I will go. And that, as a method to go out and meet the world, doesn't work anymore. Case to be made whether it actually ever did in the first place.
Along with trying to live a physically more healthy life, one has to come to grips with the fact that it is a psychological excercise as well. And emotional. And it stands to reason that, along with junk food, there must be junk thoughts. "She really needs for me to be here for her, so I'll stay and have one more drink to help her out." That's a justification I've used for getting royally ripped. "He's staying longer so I'll stay too and maybe he'll notice me." Oh yeah, he notices me alright; I'm the drunk broad who can barely keep her eyes open.
Alcohol makes me introverted. Not in a quiet-as-a-church-mouse way (trust me, that ain't gonna happen), but I get so wrapped up in my booze addled thoughts that I get confused and really lose focus on who I'm with or why I'm there. And that's when the emotional garbage starts spilling out - miniscule snippets of a feeling, a dust-bunny of angst can get blown waaaaaay outta proportion 'cuz I'm hammered and the internal editor we all possess has gone home to the wife and kids. And I made it a point to get to that point. Nope, that my friends must be the definition of "junk thoughts".
So, what does this amount to? What I want to try and do is make sure that a drink is an accessory, not the full outfit. I'll try not to fill my calendar with dates like "Drinkin' Night" I'm going to try to meet the world in different ways - go to lectures and galleries and the like. And just hang. My body will thank me for it. My brain and its still functioning cells will thank me for it. And maybe my heart and soul will too.
Though I was looking forward to Han Solo...
LiliLaLarge
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