This might help explain my life as of late, and the post I made here last night which I'm still trying to discover the actual thoughts present in my head at the time of said posting. Thing is, I was really, really hammered. So here it is, direct from my livejournal, just in case you're one of the two people on my list here who might read both...
Aside from my brother, sobriety never sits well with anyone in my family and this goes just as so, if not double for me. I will now admit that there is little question regarding the amount I drank last night being too much. I do remember an exercise in the realm of theoretical kitchen science to stop my hiccups, but there are points in my memory where things get quite hazy regarding my actions. Taken further, imagine my horror upon realizing that there were even a few mile markers that are missing entirely when I retrace the roadmap of last night etched upon my brain. I'm trusting in the goodness of your hearts to forgive any transgressions in behavior on my part and that what little written record that remains be forgotten, since the grim shadow of a story they tell is almost embarrassing to the point of being stomach turning.
Unlike marijuana where the entire experience was an emotional safety zone for me, alcohol only offers dead-hearted solace up to a point, then the flood gates simply cannot stand against the tide of self-loathing and vomit. So, I apologize to anyone who had the unfortunate experience of witnessing the results of that, be it via the digital medium or otherwise. I'm not sure how many times I refilled my flask, but I have a feeling I owe someone a bottle of what I recall being a fairly smooth rum. Let's not forget that I started the night with a filling of Wild Turkey.
You might ask yourself why, if I imbibed so much of the vile darkness that comes in quaint and colorful bottles at party stores, did I not wake up with a raging fucking hang-over. Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure how to answer that one. I do know that there was clear evidence of me taking drastic measures to hydrate myself before attempting sleep, an automatic response perhaps from my days when booze was my weapon of choice on a more frequent basis. I also sort of remember attempting to lie down and being unable to keep the room still, a condition for which a warm shower sounded like a wonderful remedy. Roughly an hour after I woke up, I did experience a mild queasiness which I promptly ignored, and remember pushing back the urge to dry-heave when emptying my flask and being hit with an alcoholic odor that was neither rum nor whiskey. I'm not entirely sure what else, or how much of it I drank. There was, I think, a bottle of Sambuca at the party, and that is the poison responsible for the only other time I blacked out in my life, a time of darkness that rivaled the day the entire eastern United States seaboard lost power. It took my Dave and Busters co-workers roughly three days to give me back that night in small chunks, one of which included a heartfelt thank you from a guy I don't ever remember speaking to for helping him save his relationship with his girl.
So, chalk me up for two, and expect it to never happen again.
Aside from my brother, sobriety never sits well with anyone in my family and this goes just as so, if not double for me. I will now admit that there is little question regarding the amount I drank last night being too much. I do remember an exercise in the realm of theoretical kitchen science to stop my hiccups, but there are points in my memory where things get quite hazy regarding my actions. Taken further, imagine my horror upon realizing that there were even a few mile markers that are missing entirely when I retrace the roadmap of last night etched upon my brain. I'm trusting in the goodness of your hearts to forgive any transgressions in behavior on my part and that what little written record that remains be forgotten, since the grim shadow of a story they tell is almost embarrassing to the point of being stomach turning.
Unlike marijuana where the entire experience was an emotional safety zone for me, alcohol only offers dead-hearted solace up to a point, then the flood gates simply cannot stand against the tide of self-loathing and vomit. So, I apologize to anyone who had the unfortunate experience of witnessing the results of that, be it via the digital medium or otherwise. I'm not sure how many times I refilled my flask, but I have a feeling I owe someone a bottle of what I recall being a fairly smooth rum. Let's not forget that I started the night with a filling of Wild Turkey.
You might ask yourself why, if I imbibed so much of the vile darkness that comes in quaint and colorful bottles at party stores, did I not wake up with a raging fucking hang-over. Truth be told, I'm not entirely sure how to answer that one. I do know that there was clear evidence of me taking drastic measures to hydrate myself before attempting sleep, an automatic response perhaps from my days when booze was my weapon of choice on a more frequent basis. I also sort of remember attempting to lie down and being unable to keep the room still, a condition for which a warm shower sounded like a wonderful remedy. Roughly an hour after I woke up, I did experience a mild queasiness which I promptly ignored, and remember pushing back the urge to dry-heave when emptying my flask and being hit with an alcoholic odor that was neither rum nor whiskey. I'm not entirely sure what else, or how much of it I drank. There was, I think, a bottle of Sambuca at the party, and that is the poison responsible for the only other time I blacked out in my life, a time of darkness that rivaled the day the entire eastern United States seaboard lost power. It took my Dave and Busters co-workers roughly three days to give me back that night in small chunks, one of which included a heartfelt thank you from a guy I don't ever remember speaking to for helping him save his relationship with his girl.
So, chalk me up for two, and expect it to never happen again.
Good luck avoiding your third strike.
I tend not to go more than ten miles from home.