 |
| You and me both, Billy. You and me both. |
Today marks the 31st day since my last drink. A whole month! Holy shit! And it's not February on a non-Leap Year, either. It's like a July or a December. The last time I did something like that was probably 15 years ago. I've been drunk almost every day since.
That means yesterday was Day 30. How did I celebrate? I went to a liquor store and a bar.
*record scratch*
Why would I do that? Three reasons. The first covers both scenarios. Like Billy the Kid in Young Guns, I believe in testing myself every day. How am I supposed to stay away from booze in a world where booze surrounds me? I have to be used to it. If I can't accept that fact, then I might as well drink myself silly again. I didn't even think of getting something to drink at either place. Didn't even enter my mind.
The second reason applies to the bar. My aunt is in town, and she wanted to take me to lunch. She had her dog with her, and Fitz's Pub is pet friendly. We sat outside, but I went in to see if it was OK to do so. I spoke with the bartender, surrounded by glittering bottles of amber fluid, and I got permission and walked back out. Again, I didn't have any cravings or urges. Easy going.
The third reason is the biggest, though, at least for me. Longtime readers remember that whenever I visit my grandfather's grave I bring along two airplane bottles of Jim Beam, his favorite whiskey. I would pour one into the ground for him, and I would drink the other myself. It has been tradition for as long as my grandfather has been dead.
Just because I'm on the wagon doesn't mean Gramps has to suffer. So I went to the liquor store and bought one airplane bottle. Any other time I would have been salivating for a handle of booze even before I so much as touched the door handle outside. Once again, I didn't think of getting something for myself. Not even one iota. I got that airplane bottle and pocketed it and headed for the cemetery.
I told myself that I would at least smell it when I took the top off. Just to see my own reaction. They say that if you're away from hard liquor for a while, you don't even like the smell of it, and I wanted to see for myself.
So I visited with Gramps. This was the first time visiting Grandma since she passed, as she and her mom are buried on the same plot with Gramps. After spending some time with them I twisted off the top and poured it down onto Gramps's side of the grave. Only later, as I was throwing out the empty bottle, did I realize that I'd forgotten to smell the whiskey. So I never did find out if I'm repulsed by the smell yet.
I doubt it. Most alcoholics will say they don't even like the taste of liquor. They just drink it for the effect. I'm different, though. I revel in the taste of whiskey. Anyone who has ever had a few with me knows that I don't grimace when I take down a shot, and I will sometimes swish it around in my mouth before swallowing. For maximum effect, of course.
I'm sure I'll find out the next time I visit Gramps. If I remember to take a sniff.
No comments:
Post a Comment