The bottle is now, as of Tuesday afternoon, almost empty. I have drank no highballs of whiskey, only shots. On Saturday, I slung three in a row. This was at the recommendation of my roommate Jess, who said that it would help me sleep. It did, to a point, but I still sobbed a bunch beforehand. They were the dry sort of sobs that are really frustrating. Dry sobs make me feel like I'm cheating myself.
Sunday night provided a two shot night--back-to-back. This was because my friend Justin came over with a bottle of cider (I love cider), and that makes the best chaser. Charlie was over too, and he read me a story he was writing. In the middle of it, I passed out in my brown chair. I woke up at 4:30 with all the lights on. Charlie had let himself out. I slid into bed and melancholy. Slept some more.
Monday night was the radio show. The theme was "Breaking Up, Breaking Away." This was quite the coincidence. Maybe it was fate. I read three poems--the last, "traffic." I nearly broke down at the end of it, live on-air. I could have gotten away with that if the episode was called "breaking down." It wasn't, so we pushed onward.
Dinner at Chipotle. While waiting in the doorway, I picked up a Stater, saw Folk Fest pictures, your name at the top. I deflated a bit more. Just when I thought there was nothing left.
Amy came over. We talked through things. I began to feel better. I attempted to begin a series of writings for Poetry II class. It was supposed to be another set of memoirs like the one I wrote last year. I couldn't do the same thing again, didn't want to, so I pursued the idea of an anthology about a fractured relationship. Just as I was about to start, I asked Amy if she wanted to do a shot.
We leapt toward the kitchen. It was 12:05. We toasted the first to adulthood. Amy toasted the second one to something carnal and raw. I believe the third was Cleveland. The fourth, fifth and sixth shots I don't remember. We were stark raving drunk by 12:30. It was an accident.
We sat in my room, Amy in the brown recliner, me in the blue, and reminisced about high school--laughed and carried on like drunks do. Jess came home and we chatted with her for a bit, Amy mainly. She focused on the future. I felt sick. I excused myself and vomited in the bathroom. As I was leaving, I caught a sight of myself in the mirror. It hit me again, the wave of melancholy. I tilted my head against the glass.
I sat back in the chair and attempted to write, amidst double vision and an undulating cocktail in my gut. Here is an excerpt:
I got drunk tonight. 6 shots of Irish Whiskey. Who does that? On a Monday? This is where I'm at. . .6 shots of whiskey on Monday. I looked at myself in the mirror. I saw myself, the dark circles around the eyes, and I knew, just knew, that you would not approve of me right now. I wonder what you are doing right now. It is 1:32 in the morning. You are probably sleeping right now. I, on the other hand, am drunk. I did not mean for this to happen, I swear. I love you so much. I wish I could express that a bit better. But here I am, drunk off 6 shots of Jameson, wishing I was with you. I wanted to call you today, just to express what I was feeling today. But I couldn't.A little later, I wept uncontrollably into Amy's arms. I still sat in the chair, she sat in my lap. I cried and I cried and I cried. I couldn't even live with myself. We passed out there.
I awoke from a wonderful dream about you. I can't remember exactly what it was about, but the last image was the two of us together, embracing, laughing. It was a gray morning again. Reality crushed me immediately.
Amy threw up six times that morning. I felt okay, a bit groggy maybe, but okay. I slept through Poetry class. I had nothing to present anyway.
Amy was curled up on the couch as I got ready for the day. I rationalized last night as this: I needed to torment my liver, because for the last few days I'd been tormenting my heart. It drew the pain away from one organ and into another.
Still, it comes and goes. Right now, I'm riding a low swell in the tidal wave. Hopefully it will rise soon. I'm confident that it will; though I know, in my heart of hearts, that it will only be a matter of time before I am pulled back down again.
I love her.