You hadn't reached rock bottom, you were trying to be wise, you were trying to out-smart yourself. You were lying to yourself daily that you could do it. You knew you couldn't, because you didn't.
Immediately after the meeting you went out and had three delicious dirty martinis on the rocks, lots of olives.
It was convenient that you had Ink-neck to drink with, that he wanted you to drink with him so that he'd have a better time. You thought that if you could catch him early enough that sex would be enough, that that would be a good enough time. basta, enough. You started out with a diet coke, and thought, “If I have one martini I can make it home by 12 and be in bed on time and make it to work on time.”
The main reason for the sobriety hunt was because you were tired. In the preceding three weeks you had found that both ends were exhausting. Drinking was exhausting and so was not drinking. You stayed up until 3am drawing in a manic state of anxiety on many nights during that white-knuckle period.
You stopped that night at 1:30 and were in bed by 1:45am. You made it into work on time the next day. It was luck and you knew it.
You didn't know about that day, the beginning of what you call your bottom. You were supposed to go to a going away party with your dodge ball guys but doubted that you could sit in a fully stocked limo without taking your clothes off. It felt like the Bacchus was stalking you. It was like going up against Vizzini, the Sicilian, when death is on the line.
And then came the surrender. The details of those days … don’t matter. Not really. Everyone has gotten drunk, right? taken too many pills? Blacked out? Been handcuffed with a keyless pair? Missed their mother’s birthday dinner because the key had to be found? Been sodomized? Everyone has, right? It’s normal, right?
If you need another example of your unmanageable life, turn to any of the following pages: page 21, page 23, page 26, page 28.
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