I live in this fantasy world where I am interesting, only when I'm loaded; I am creative, only when I'm loaded; my friends love me, only when I'm loaded.
I'm scared of being sober.
Being sober means giving up my will to something other (higher self, God, whatever they call it in AA).
Being sober means releasing my defects - but what if my defects are my awesomes?
Being sober means seeing the world like everyone else.
Being sober means boredom. It means 3 TV channels (including the ABC).
And this freaks me out.
In reality, waking up sober is the best gift you can have (aside from being kissed by a fluffy dog or two fluffy dogs).
I woke up this morning feeling great. I wasn't hung over. I had a modicum of energy. I didn't feel like napping at 9am.
I went to AA. (Hello and Thank You).
I drove home and called the mister but he didn't answer and I saw a bottle shop, its bright lights aglow, so I stopped in.
I bought a half bottle because I know myself (they make them in plastic now!).
I don't blame it on the unanswered phone call, but it's part of the fucked-up reason anyway.
It's part of the story. The same story that tells me I'm the life of the party, the belle of the freaking ball, the best writer, the most creative - but only when I'm drunk.
And then we get down to the basics. It feels so good to be high. Cocaine, booze, weed, ecstasy, mania
I'm scared of being sober.
Being sober means giving up my will to something other (higher self, God, whatever they call it in AA).
Being sober means releasing my defects - but what if my defects are my awesomes?
Being sober means seeing the world like everyone else.
Being sober means boredom. It means 3 TV channels (including the ABC).
And this freaks me out.
In reality, waking up sober is the best gift you can have (aside from being kissed by a fluffy dog or two fluffy dogs).
I woke up this morning feeling great. I wasn't hung over. I had a modicum of energy. I didn't feel like napping at 9am.
I went to AA. (Hello and Thank You).
I drove home and called the mister but he didn't answer and I saw a bottle shop, its bright lights aglow, so I stopped in.
I bought a half bottle because I know myself (they make them in plastic now!).
I don't blame it on the unanswered phone call, but it's part of the fucked-up reason anyway.
It's part of the story. The same story that tells me I'm the life of the party, the belle of the freaking ball, the best writer, the most creative - but only when I'm drunk.
And then we get down to the basics. It feels so good to be high. Cocaine, booze, weed, ecstasy, mania
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