Moving On

There is an old line about the fellow is accused of having a drinking problem. He says; "I drink, I get drunk. I get drunk, I fall down. I fall down, I go to sleep. If I'm asleep, what's the problem?" Of course the reality is far different than the aphorism.  There is no need to get drunk. Not everybody falls down, at least not at the right time. And certainly not everybody goes to sleep.

I admit to having a drinking problem, except that at this time of my life I see no need to correct it. I most certainly don't drink and drive. I rarely drink a lot out in public, or at least not a lot for me. I love a nice glass of wine, or three. I will happily drink a half bottle of scotch or more in a night. It's not like I have to get up and walk, so I can't really tell how bad it is until I skip right past the fall down part and go directly to the go to sleep part.

Every once in a while, though, the curse will get to me. I will start with one, and finish when the bottle is empty, or near enough that I can no longer tell. I will sit and drink for hours, a binge worthy of my old man, and his old man, and so on. I can pretty much tell you when this is going to happen. It is at times of transition, where I am compelled by a change in state to recognize once again how shitty my life can be these days, often in direct contrast to something good happening.

Saturday was one of those days. I got home from this great road trip to find my house empty, void of any meaning except that which I put into it, deathly silent, eerie. Friday night there was too much to do, and I was too tired to do it all. Saturday morning I got into laundry. In the afternoon it was grocery shopping. Then came the evening, the quiet night, when the gloom of nightfall settled over me, bringing my own gloom in to roost.

So I opened one of my newly purchased, large bottles of Scotch, a 15 Glenfiddich single malt. I had a glass, then another. Suddenly 6:00 PM became midnight. There was still scotch. Night became morning. I had passed out in my chair at some point, but awoke in the morning, still drunk. I was not asleep. I was a problem.

I dozed. My friend Todd brought sushi. Emma's Mom and Dad brought some wine making gear they wanted to give to me. Everyone left. I slept some more. I cancelled dinner with Dion and went to bed at around 8:00 PM, still feeling the effects. I took a sleeping pill.

Blessed normalcy returned to me this morning. My guideline in life is that if you can't do the time, don't do the crime. I did the time. Now it's another day. I'll move on. But perhaps without a glass of Scotch this time.