It’s been 260 days.
I wanna know what it’s like to be awkward and innocent, not belligerent
I wanna know how it feels to be useful and pertinent and have common sense.. yeah
Let me in, let me in to the club, cuz I wanna belong
And I need to get strong, and if memory serves
I’m addicted to words and they’re useless
I had forgotten the trick of being straight–and out of shame.
Hemingway and Fitzgerald didn’t drink because they were creative, alienated, or morally weak. They drank because it’s what alkies are wired up to do. Creative people probably do run a greater risk of alcoholism and addiction than those in some other jobs, but so what? We all look pretty much the same when we’re puking in the gutter.
He writes of a friend:
“How much do you drink?” the counselor asked.
My friend looked at the counselor with disbelief. “All of it,” he said, as if that should have been self evident.
I can relate. As so kindly pointed out by generations of alcoholics and their kin, alcoholism doesn’t end when you put the bottle down. Now I’ve got to learn to put down the pizza, the television, the HIMYM and Scrubs, the music, the movies, the books, the news.
Heck, while I’m at it maybe I ought to deny myself, take up my cross, and follow him.