i was going to call this blog relapse, but i wanted to pull in some viewers. you sick bastards. its a kind word. relapse. and though the dogma dictates that “resentment is the number one offender”, i dont believe that it was resentment.
it was emotional pain. one more disappointment.
now i know that “one more knife in the back” sounds like resentment, but it sure feels like pain.
i’ll skip the details of the origin of the pain, but i’d like interested parties to know what its like to start drinking again after 5.5 years.
i had fantasized about cognac for years. it was cognac that i purchased on the night before memorial day. my wife was up when i got home and talked me out of drinking it.
the following morning a phone call prompted me to complete the mission. i told my wife that i was heading for the riverbottom, a place i once frequented during a homeless episode eighteen years earlier. she asked me to drink at home.
the cognac was awful. i remember it being an aquired taste and no doubt i had lost the aquisition.
i chugged what i could. i got drunk. i shit in the backyard i really did. pulled my panties down an grunted out a couple of turds that a skunk or possum finally ate. i’m using an educated guess here.
let me assure you at this point that staying sober for any amount of time is a labor of love. an aquired taste, if you will. if you be alcoholic or addiction oriented. i’m a man. my wife calls all underwear panties, so if you’re beating your meat with visions of some lovely young lady pooping with beautiful grace, put your pecker away. i’m fat. i’m short. i’m a dude. yeah, i guess thats why i have a wife, but you cant be too sure.
let me also make the point here that i believe aa meetings are group therapy. leaving the group has had an impact of monumental proportions. its not just that i’m drinking, it is the lack of the group that i feel a need to express.
i drink while i write. i’m writing this in short bursts at night while drinking. i’ve just finished one “fat tire”. its a beer. i’m not sure it was around when i used to drink. sometimes, when i’m at work, i can taste a fat tire. i’m gonna have some jim beam now..hang on.
ok, five days after the cognac incident i bought a pint of jim beam. it was much better to drink and i drank it straight, on the rocks.
i figured a pint was about right. it seems i drank and dialed that night. a version of “gin and juice” on a friends voice mail. i found out days later.
i know my stated intent was to illuminate relapse. i know that i’ve been distracted and wandered down corridors and tangents, but this is how my mind operates. i’m getting to it.
a pint of whiskey proved to be way too much. a half pint was the next experiment and it too, was too much. it lies somewhere between 4 and eight ounces. the magic. and then throw in a fat tire or two and……….well tonight its been 4 ounces of jim beam and i’m working on my second fat tire. this should do just fine. i have a cramp in my forearm from typing.
lets get this posted and continue……………
