The problem is not what I thought it would be. I used to picture the stereotypical. I pictured the stumbling and the slurring of words. I used to picture rumpled clothes and smell of alcohol from yards away.
There used to be a restaurant in Barrington. An older couple would come in every weekend and have dinner. During the course of the night while I was bussing tables the wife would always make sure the waiter kept her wine glass full. Midway through dinner she would begin an argument. You could constantly hear the husband quietly saying “Shhhh, darling, we’re not at home. What would these good people think of you if you started yelling like you do when we’re at home?”
He would apologize to the staff when they were on the way out. He always tipped extra. Come to find out later it was his way of having a quiet night out. She wouldn’t yell as much when she was in public and would normally be ‘asleep’ by the time they got home.
I pictured the alcohol problem as concentrated incidents. Someone would spend the night throwing up in a bathroom. You fight to get someone’s keys so they don’t drive home from the party, bar, or hotel. There is a person who sits at the bar from the time he gets out of work until the bar closes. He (normally he) is typically cut off after one too many attempts at grab ass with the waitresses or the bartender picks up on the slurring and glossy eyes.
There is a ‘This shit will never happen to me’ mentality. It hits everyone different. You never see it coming and that hit changes you.
There was a moment when I went from having a second glass of wine to thinking about opening that second bottle to realizing I was on my second glass in my second bottle.
I would be working on a project. I would start around noon with an empty screen and an idea. There would be a moment of music or a written paragraph here and a sip of Merlot there. I could work until midnight and never be ‘drunk’ but a whole bottle would disappear. Then it went from enhancing my ideas to being my main idea. Rather than having a drink between takes or creative sparks, it became a creative spark between drinks.
I would have a glass or two while playing or writing hoping an idea would hit as hard as the buzz. It never got beyond the buzz but it never got below.
The missing mornings would be chalked up to working late into the night but there would never be anything to show for all of that late night work but an empty bottle or two.
The CouchSpirAssy had found its partner in crime. In doing so it also messed up. Most of the time things aren’t stopped because they should be stopped. Things are stopped because they are inconvenient. The inconvenience is usually discovered by accident.
Because so much time had been spent in front of a screen writing or playing music, my electric bill was a bit higher that month. Some chilly nights I wrote with a little space heater on to stay warm. If I was playing music, the keyboard, drum machine, computer, amps, and speakers were plugged in for recording and playback.
When I went to pay the bill, I noticed my bank balance was a bit light. I checked to see where the funds went. The amount of the bill could have been paid twice over by the multiple subscriptions, food deliveries, and trips to the winery I had slipped into by giving into the CouchSpirAssy. I would be able to pay the bill but I would have to wait until my next pay cycle and it would be paid with a late fee.
This was my inconvenience. I got lucky. It was a wake up call. I started getting rid of the unnecessary subscriptions. I cut back on the food delivery and, with a bit of difficulty, the wine. I’ve known people jolted awake by serious falls, lost friends, totaled cars, and broken relationships.
I had to inhale deep, let my shoulders drop, plant my feet on the floor, stretch, and shake it out. When reality hits, it hits hard and it hits everyone different. You never see it coming and that hit changes you.
There used to be a restaurant in Barrington. An older couple would come in every weekend and have dinner. During the course of the night while I was bussing tables the wife would always make sure the waiter kept her wine glass full. Midway through dinner she would begin an argument. You could constantly hear the husband quietly saying “Shhhh, darling, we’re not at home. What would these good people think of you if you started yelling like you do when we’re at home?”
He would apologize to the staff when they were on the way out. He always tipped extra. Come to find out later it was his way of having a quiet night out. She wouldn’t yell as much when she was in public and would normally be ‘asleep’ by the time they got home.
I pictured the alcohol problem as concentrated incidents. Someone would spend the night throwing up in a bathroom. You fight to get someone’s keys so they don’t drive home from the party, bar, or hotel. There is a person who sits at the bar from the time he gets out of work until the bar closes. He (normally he) is typically cut off after one too many attempts at grab ass with the waitresses or the bartender picks up on the slurring and glossy eyes.
There is a ‘This shit will never happen to me’ mentality. It hits everyone different. You never see it coming and that hit changes you.
There was a moment when I went from having a second glass of wine to thinking about opening that second bottle to realizing I was on my second glass in my second bottle.
I would be working on a project. I would start around noon with an empty screen and an idea. There would be a moment of music or a written paragraph here and a sip of Merlot there. I could work until midnight and never be ‘drunk’ but a whole bottle would disappear. Then it went from enhancing my ideas to being my main idea. Rather than having a drink between takes or creative sparks, it became a creative spark between drinks.
I would have a glass or two while playing or writing hoping an idea would hit as hard as the buzz. It never got beyond the buzz but it never got below.
The missing mornings would be chalked up to working late into the night but there would never be anything to show for all of that late night work but an empty bottle or two.
The CouchSpirAssy had found its partner in crime. In doing so it also messed up. Most of the time things aren’t stopped because they should be stopped. Things are stopped because they are inconvenient. The inconvenience is usually discovered by accident.
Because so much time had been spent in front of a screen writing or playing music, my electric bill was a bit higher that month. Some chilly nights I wrote with a little space heater on to stay warm. If I was playing music, the keyboard, drum machine, computer, amps, and speakers were plugged in for recording and playback.
When I went to pay the bill, I noticed my bank balance was a bit light. I checked to see where the funds went. The amount of the bill could have been paid twice over by the multiple subscriptions, food deliveries, and trips to the winery I had slipped into by giving into the CouchSpirAssy. I would be able to pay the bill but I would have to wait until my next pay cycle and it would be paid with a late fee.
This was my inconvenience. I got lucky. It was a wake up call. I started getting rid of the unnecessary subscriptions. I cut back on the food delivery and, with a bit of difficulty, the wine. I’ve known people jolted awake by serious falls, lost friends, totaled cars, and broken relationships.
I had to inhale deep, let my shoulders drop, plant my feet on the floor, stretch, and shake it out. When reality hits, it hits hard and it hits everyone different. You never see it coming and that hit changes you.
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