I took a nap this afternoon only to wake up in the late afternoon in absolute pain. My chest felt constricted. And I felt an overwhelming shortness of breath. Then I realized where I was and what time it was. And a terrible sense of sadness washed over me. I wanted to cry. But I'm sure I sweat it out already. Another day to face without drinking.
Detox is a bitch.
I felt less tired when I was on the sauce. Dependency is painful no matter what it is. Whether you love someone so much and they leave your life to when you celebrate every existing day downing a half a bottle of scotch, content to the warm feelings and numbness to the world. Ever snuggle with a handle of Smirnoff? Then you don't know me.
I have a co-worker who has been pestering me about going bowling. "Pestering" being the loose word since it was my idea. Her plan is that after work I join them around midnight with enough bar time to get hammered. I told her that I am off the sauce for 21 days. Her response (this is no joke)...she looked down at her planner and counted out the days until our plans of bowling and pointed to the Monday before the Friday date of bowling and (again not joking) cheered "Perfect!...it ends here and you'll be good for Friday."
Anyone else chuckle to themselves about this?
I looked at her sadly...she backtracked and said "well, you don't have to drink if you don't want to." Ah...gotta love enablers. Keep in mind too, one time she asked me whom I partied with, and my response was "Party with?...I find the darkest corner in my apartment and drink myself to sleep." I guess I said it so casual she didn't believe me. The only detail I left out was that it also had to be a danky corner with a photo of my dead dog I lost when I was 14. That would've been too weird for her. Drunks are more honest about themselves than you realize. Maybe they throw the obvious in your face so that you take it as a joke. Joking makes people drop serious subjects. Right?
Bowling is never as good as when you are really really drunk. Hell, last time I bowled a 274 blitzed. This is no fishing story. It really happened. 274. It should be a known fact. And I guess it sorta is, because I've never seen a bowling alley that didn't have a bar. Goes hand-in-hand for some reason. I think everyone knows the truth...you see three lanes, always aim for the one in the middle.
You lose a lot of friends when you're sober. For instance, the very odd gang of Filipino night shift workers at the CVS who know your drink of choice. They don't speak clear English, but judgmental eyes seem to be universal, Something is definitely wrong when they address you by your name. CVS is not a bar.
My friend works in the film industry too. Didn't know he was much of a drinker until one day we were at a barbecue together and the topic of "last calls" came up. How is it that we both know when CVS will no longer sell you booze? Another friend lost.
One of the scariest things about sobriety is what makes up your day. A lot is watching stupid shows senior citizens love. "48 Hours Mysteries" and re-runs of "Dr. Quinn" come to mind. Don't quiz me on them though, 'cause I'm sure I would mix them up and scream "Jane Seymour killed her daughter...FRY HER!". Throw in a few 80's sitcoms like "Charles In Charge" and "Growing Pains" and I'm ready for the Depends set. Everyone loves Chachi...I wanna kill him.
True crime shows are pretty awesome though. "48 Hours Mysteries" bugs me sometimes though. They convict people and still consider it a mystery. They have this really awful way of swinging the doubt back and forth. At some point I don't even care anymore, cause I hate them all and I want them all murdered and then I would be the subject of "48 Hours" which I technically think should be called "96 Hours". Still...it doesn't stop me from saying at the end "See, it was the husband...I knew it all along" Like some old fart.
Anyway, it keeps me occupied. Looking at people whose lives are more screwed up than my own...yet they look so normal and they had everything. Yeah, especially a gun.
Speaking of watching interesting things: there's a midget who is a bodybuilder at my gym. Yeah...midget...I don't care. I can't call him that at the gym, so I'll call him that here. This little dude is amazing. He can do over 250lbs. on an incline bench. I've seen him clean 200lbs. He's not a ball of muscle but very fit. I think he hates me, since I'm short but not a midget. I think midgets hate short people because they think we hate being labeled as "short" but can never imagine being a midget. I think they may even think we judge them for being a midget and think to ourselves "Man, I'm short but thank God I'm not a midget". Which I do. So now I know midgets are telepathic too, 'cause he hates me.
I'm impressed by him though. He may think I'm staring because he is a midget. But that's just not true. He's also Mexican. Which I think to myself, I wonder if he doesn't steal hubcaps off Hot Wheels. Joking. Just making sure you're paying attention.
Anyway, I watch what he does and wishes I could do that weight. I'm guessing since his arms are so short, there's less distance to the bar, and so what a regular size guy needs to extend further to work the chest, the midget moves inches. But I don't judge. I''ll just say one last thing though. I try my damn'est to acknowledge his strength. Every time I see him I nod. Like dudes do. A "wassup" nod. He gives me the dirtiest look. But I still nod. Thinking one day he'll nod back in recognition of my dedication to physical fitness. It never occurs to me that he may think I'm gay for midgets.
I feel like I'm doing him a favor since no one else seems to acknowledge him. Or can't see him. But I see him. I see you quarter-man.
Detox is bitch.
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