Drunk
Being a drunk gives my life rhythm when I manage to do it for more than half a week. Wake up. Finish whatever is lying around, because otherwise it’ll get stale. Got work today? Study? Better go if you’re not fucked up. Shove leftovers of whatever remains from half a week ago into your mouth for breakfast. It tastes like carpet, like a carpet that a cat pissed on. Going to be back late? Try and find 15 minutes to go to get some more booze, doesn’t matter too much if you mess up your schedule because of it. Come home, start drinking. Your friend invites you to hang out with him and his girlfriend out of the goodness of his heart. You accept. Make a joke. Drink. Make a joke. Drink. Make a joke. Now the world is a lot of fun. Everything doesn’t hurt as much. Making people laugh is fun. That makes you valuable. You don’t make people laugh much when you’re sober. You are pretty sure they are laughing with you, but it’s hard to tell. Eventually, it gets too much, people get tired of laughing and part ways.
You get online. If you drink more, you’ll pass out. You’ll waste the numbness of the moment. But if you don’t drink more the aching in your soul will have to be endured as the level of alcohol in your blood plummets. Maybe you reach out to someone. Keep it simple. Don’t let on to the desperation in your heart. Who do you really want to care about you?
You mention you’ve been drinking. You hint at your soul to whoever is unfortunate to be willing to bare witness. They feel sorry for you. They pity you. But you are also disgusting to them.
The interaction is unproductive. They tell you that they’ve noticed you’ve been drinking a lot recently. They do not make any effort to continue the conversation.
You lie in bed staring at the ceilings. Words like cirrhosis, dementia, and heart disease spiral in your head. Your body aches already somehow. Tomorrow you’ll stop drinking.
You fall into sleep. Wake up. Finish whatever’s in the cup by your bed that you didn’t finish last night.
Tomorrow is another day.