Drinking

   Well, I guess this is as good a place to confess something as any. I quit drinking exactly 19 days ago. Am I an alcoholic? No. Have I lost a job, kid, wife, girlfriend, or fuck all? No. I just wanted a change of pace. I keep telling myself that I don’t need a drink. That another day without is another day that I feel stronger, faster, slimmer, smarter, friendlier, and this is all true. About four days into this self initiated sobriety I recieved a call from a bitching ex-girlfriend, and that didn’t even shake my resolve.
   I had always thought of myself in Hunter S. Thompson terms, but until you are 24 years into it, and that is completely literal (twenty four fucking years into it), don’t come to me thinking you know how to deal with the process of suddenly having clear thoughts. That is 24 years of fist fights, vomiting, shaking from too much, shaking from too little, breaking hotel lobby coffee tables, driving OD’ing friends to the ER, helping strippers vomit in your bathtub so they can aim better than in your toilet, fucking for 48 straight hours, knocking on random doors for shotgun shells, stealing clothes from midget strippers, trying to break into art museums at 4 in the morning, etc. Do not blame me for not knowing how to process my thoughts into words, words into actions, and actions into something satisfying. I’m just as lost in this as anyone else. Am I trying to prove a point to any one? No. Am I trying to prove a point to myself? No. So, what happened? I don’t know. I really don’t.
   I just woke up one morning, looked at both the girls laying on either side of me, and asked, “Do ya’ll want breakfast? I can even make ya’ll mimosas.”
    “Mimosas for everyone!!!”, the brunette said, half elated, half hangover whispering through her lips.
    To which I said,”No, just for ya’ll. I think I’m gonna take a little break.” That was my decision that morning, and that has remained my decision for 19 days now. I’m not going to lie. I want a drink. Somedays worse that others. Yet, every morning I wake up and get out of bed, instead of dragging myself out of bed, and I am…fuck it…..I’m happy. Happy like a retarded kid that just got some basic arithmetic right. It’s dumb, it’s small, but it’s satisfying.
     I don’t know why I wrote this. I think it was because I just saw a picture of some delicious Gin, and my mind told me how awesome it probably tasted. Maybe it was because I just thought about a pair of young breasts, and how nice it would be to pour Jack down them, laying my tongue on her belly button, to catch it like a thirsty dog. Maybe it’s because this is what you do 19 days into sobriety. You reflect, and feel like an idiot for telling anyone about a minor accomplishment. Fuck, I don’t know. I just know that 19 days ago, I stopped, and yet, at the same time, I started.