I don’t understand why. It’s 721, and I’m on the prowl for a bottle of whiskey. I drink half a liter and wake up fuzzy, needing to puke. What. The. Fuck. So, I quit again. I need to quit for long enough to make it stick. I need to be able to wait it out until things become normal.
When I’m not drinking, all I can see is how every situation warrants getting drunk. I think ahead to being in Key West where you can walk around with an open beer, and get $1 Yuenlings and free sandwiches. I think ahead to my birthday. Birthday Boy is drunk. I think ahead to an endless list of situations, all of which call for being drunk. I think of owning land and sitting in a chair getting drunk every night. And having a dog.
I don’t sleep well when I don’t drink. My mood suffers, and time becomes long and slow. I get increasingly self-critical and uneasy.
Well, fuck. I quit again. A lucky customer at the Wal-Mart in Bismarck will find the other half of my whiskey by the cart return. I’ve poured gallons of liquor down sinks and into bushes.
How the fuck did I end up drunk again? I made a decision, life became easier in a way, and I went well out of my way to fuck it up. I’m glad I puked a lot. That really helps put things in perspective. I just want everything to become sober and normal again. It’s a can of worms that I wish I’d left shut. You don’t crave alcohol if you’ve never had it. I was like that at one point, and happy as all fuck. Now I just feel fucked. It’s definitely the God damned wheel. I’m relieved that I quit again. We’ll see if it takes.