Vodka has left the building

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I posted this photo a couple of nights ago, however, it wasn’t the absolute truth of the matter.  I poured some out to take the photo, then the next night I made 2 martinis with the last bit of olive brine I had left.  Just the 2.

The next morning, the last of the vodka went down the kitchen sink for reals.

I can’t tell you how much booze I’ve poured down various sinks in various places I’ve lived over the last 35 years.  Gotta be gallons.  Always with the same good God-damned intentions.

Tonight, I had no drinks.  Of course, I had nothing TO drink in the house, but had no will to grab my purse and drive the 2 miles to Walgreens.

I’m so tired of feeling tired.  Of going to work still half in the sack (or feeling as if I am, anyway).  My guts hurt.  I eat shit that isn’t on my Keto diet, like DQ strawberry sundaes with nuts and whipped cream.  And although pork rinds and full-fat sour cream ARE Keto, eating the entire BAG of pork rinds is probably not that great of an idea.  I was feeling like I couldn’t THINK.  Couldn’t think of the right phrase to tell someone or the right word for a sentence.

My father was an alcoholic.  He drank excessively from the age of 17 (or earlier?) until he died at age 66 of a massive heart blow-out while sitting on the toilet.  Alone.  With beans cooking on the stove.  A friend of his found him 4 days after he died.  His wife was visiting relatives in Germany and ran out of money — she called but, when she couldn’t get him on the phone, the friend was asked to stop by to see if Jim was alright.  Not alright.  DEAD.

Every male relative of mine either IS or WAS an alcoholic.  Most of the ladies as well.  Family gatherings are steeped in wine/beer/liquor.  My grandpa Ed used to hide liquor in his garage.  After he died, my Aunt and Mom were simply appalled at the quantity of empties that filled the space.  The smell of Scotch reminds me of my grandpa Stan.  My brother James quit about 3 years ago — he was out of control as well.  My brother Michael (1/2 brother, actually) rarely, if ever, drinks.  He, of course, was not my father Jim’s son.  Ah, yes, the Colemans are the drunks.

My mother can put away the booze just as well as any Coleman can.  “I only have my 2 ….” and then she “little-bit”‘s about 2 more.  You know …. before your drink is all-the-way gone, you pour in just a “little bit” as a top off.  Do that a few times and BAM, you’ve had 3 or 4 drinks, NOT 2. SHE isn’t an alcoholic.

OK, Mom.  Whatever.

I’m not gonna put my hand on the Bible and swear to Christ that I will never touch a drop again.  Right now, that’s pretty unrealistic for me.  I’m just gonna take things in baby steps.

No drinks today?  Gold star.

 

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