ale

 Another ANOTHER year gone by and all my magic powers (ALCOHOL) spent like lottery tickets. Tried to have two lousy beers last week and woke up with my head in a full nelson. They say that when your body is trying to tell you something you should listen, but my body just looks at me now, actions speak louder than words buddy. And so I drive around town, sober and forlorn, daring the cops to pull me over and test my walking skills. Only, I’m sure I’d just curl up into a ball onto the street, hair rent, TAKE ME AWAY BOYS I NEED A NEW TRAUMA. Oof, cue the ducks, it’s all just a bunch of boring ghosts upstairs, surfing LiveJournal archives. I used to be clever, even if I never was, I USED to be. Goddammit, I used to be.

There is one benefit of forced sobriety – I am forced to reckon with every single mistake I’ve ever made, owing to my improved power of recall, and this remorseful clarity is a wonderful listener for someone who does all the talking. You’re never lonely when your best friend is regret.

Last month, we went to the Paramount to see Wicked, and since we arrived early, stopped by for DRINKS WHAT A GREAT IDEA THAT MILLIONS OF NORMAL PEOPLE DO EVERYDAY WITHOUT CONSEQUENCE. And after giving in to my peers, I had two lousy overpriced undersmall normal beers. We got to our seats, which were constructed during the time of early hominins prior to the advent of fire so that our closely huddled bodies could conserve energy and my body stood up and grabbed me by the nape and told me to tell all 25 people next to me to stand up and then gave me a long, silent talk in the theater restroom four blocks away. Fortunately there was an intermission after 2 and half hours, so I could go back to the restroom and deliver my belated retort, “I KNOW.”

But by the final curtain, everyone was crying, even though my tears were not for the actors’ performance, but for mine own. Why are you even crying? I wanted to shout. That’s not even the real ending! Read the book, people, it’s a fraud!!!

For Thanksgiving, I bought non-alcoholic beer and champagne and a balaclava so that when my body wasn’t paying attention I could sneak into the closet and steal a swig of brandy. There was a loud knock immediately and when I opened the door, there I was, rolling my eyes. I dare not speak (BECAUSE OF THE ALCOHOL), but bodily regret is a sonofabitch and wouldn’t have believed me anyway. JUST SAY SOMETHING, BODY! ENOUGH WITH YOUR SILENT JUDGEMENT!

So here I am, getting ready for Christmas Day with no pretty bottles to jingle, and long gone is the inspiration that came with that sweet, sweet lubricant of words on a blank page. I never really had anything to say, but god I used to be someone who could say a lot. I used to be.