these asshats cost me countless hours of serenity this weekend


In this blogging endeavor I have sworn to myself to write with humility, authenticity, and if I can manage it, fearlessness.

This is the part where I admit I’m a fucking lunatic.  Notsomuch fearless as authentic.

This past weekend I snuggled up with Netflix and decided to queue up a thriller. I adore scary movies and the new British flick, The Ritual popped up as a match, so I decided to give it a go.  What a rare treat!  An empty house, a full cup of hot tea, an asshole cat snoozing by my side, and a horror movie at my disposal. Life is good, no?

No.  Well, yeah, but it’s complicated.

Within the first ten minutes of the movie my shit went pear shaped, as they say in England.  Fuck.

The premise of the story is that there are five lifelong  friends and one of them gets killed in a robbery gone wrong (in a liquor store, I might  add) and it was his dream for the five of them to go back-pack across Sweden or Norway or some crap so they decide to do so to honor his memory, and of course, there’s some evil shit in them there woods. Duh.

Anyway, one of the first scenes in the movie is the four of them (above) atop a mountain with a picture of their fallen friend on some makeshift rock memorial and they pass around a black leather covered flask and they all take a swig out of it in remembrance of their mate.  When they had all drank, they poured out (are you fucking kidding me?!?) some on the ground for their pal, made a toast,  and subsequently, the movie moved on.


I suddenly transported myself to a situation in the wreckage of my future where I am faced with the same dilemma and I wondered to myself if there’s a window in recovery for something like this.  I mean, the consequences  of my drinking have already cost me gravely at the expense of my liver and Cirrhosis, and I don’t often think about drinking ever again, save for an occasional short-lived craving. When I do notice “normal” people drinking in movies I just think to myself “well, how nice for you to be  able to drink like a goddamned average and ordinary person, you buttfucker”, and I move on, like the mature and sophisticated adult that I am. . . but I couldn’t this time because I became OBSESSED with the scene above.

Let’s invite my crazy down into the parlor for a spell, shall we?

The first thing that occurred to me was that of course I would take the fallen comrade’s drink for him/her in a show of solidarity because obviously I would love him/her the most over all of our other friends. Then, I jumped to the fact that one little teensy weensy shot of whiskey would not even resurrect a buzz in me these days and as far as I knew, they only had that one flask so WHY COULDN’T I have just one somber little whiskey shot at the makeshift funeral of my fake and non-existent best friend who tragically just hypothetically died?!?!  LIKE I AM AN INTERNATIONAL BACKPACKER AND COULD BE FACED WITH THIS PREDICAMENT ANY DAY NOW.

But in my head, it could and what the fuck would I do?!?  I mean, all of my current friends already know that I’m a raging drunk so they probably wouldn’t let me even hold the flask in the first place but COME ON PEOPLE it’s not like there’s a liquor store in the background, is there?  They are like DAYS away (well, I won’t spoil the ending but suffice to say they don’t have to worry  about the evils of civilization for very much longer) from ANY type of city and/or liquor store.

I had to shut down the din my head. My reaction was borderline Pavlovian. The scenario kept playing over and over in my crazy-ass circus of a brain until I could somehow justify a situation at some point in my life on this earth where I can rationalize having just ONE MORE DRINK before I die.  Isn’t that dismally ironic?  Isn’t that pathetic?  Isn’t that delusional, demented and deranged?!  Yes, it is.  They talk about the insanity of alcoholism and here it is in black and white.

Not drinking is SO MUCH MORE than just not drinking.  I had to finally circle back to the part where the guy got killed in the liquor store in the first place.  So, if he hadn’t gone into the liquor store, he would not have interrupted the burglary in progress, and he would still be alive today so clearly the message here is that vodka is nefarious and malicious, and will kill you in ANY WAY THAT IT CAN.  Okay, that *might* be a little bit delusional and somewhat far-reaching, but IT IS MY POST ISN’T IT?  This is what it’s like, in my head, all. the. damn. time.

And truth be told, if you had seen me in the last few months of my drinking, I was far more terrifying than anything in those woods.  Those Brits got off easy on their camping trip.

where did that pepsi come from?

So, feel free to share YOUR insanity with me. Come on, share your crazy!  Do you obsess?  Create scenarios in your head?!  I won’t judge.  Well, maybe a little but only because it’ll make me feel better about MY insanity and really, isn’t that what healing in community is ALL ABOUT!?!   I’m practically Mother Teresa over here.


  1. Is that picture you? It’s a wreck but on the bright side- nice butt!!
    I call it “spinning”. ‘Round and ’round we go with everything from losing my job out of the blue for absolutely no reason (10 years in) to rehashing something dumb I did in 1996.

  2. SPINNING is the perfect word. I also call it “the endless loop of defeat” because that’s really all it is. THANKS for commenting and reading. It means a lot. Girl, you know I don’t drink Pepsi. *wink*


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