Thursday, February 09, 2006
The Naked Truth
I picked up the new Augusten Burroughs book, Dry. I started reading it while drinking a martini (Grey Goose Dirty Straight Up) as big as my head. As I giggle over his witty recollection of entering rehab, I get tipsy. I’ve left half my meal on the plate knowing that I have limited space in my stomach and I much rather fill that space with vodka.
What is wrong with me?
Flying into Denver yesterday evening, I worked through most of it, about 50 pages left, and there were moments that rang a little too true. Am I an alcoholic, probably not, do I abuse alcohol…um, yeah.
The depth of reasons are nowhere near Burroughs; and he had so many good reasons to drink as well as lots of bad ones. Me, I drink because it’s what I do. It’s what everyone does. It’s how time is passed and how time passes.
There is a point, and if you intend on reading this book stop now, that broke me. I had to put it down. His best friend is dying from AIDS and Burroughs steps up for the first time in his life. He becomes the responsible adult that he has avoided being for the last decade of his life. As the imminent death of his friend become far more imminent Burroughs starts drinking again. After nine months of sobriety he walks into a liquor store and buys a bottle.
It was so much more than the maudlin pieces of “poor drunk gets drunk again” it was the description of him doing a line of coke at the hospital before he goes into see his friend for the last time.
It just didn’t seem so wrong to me. I understood every word of that exchange. I got it. And that scared me.
Now I know that the smart person would take stock of life and why all of the above bladi blah. Tonight, I am going to drink my weight in vodka. And then tomorrow, I will sit by the fire, drinking. And then go to the wedding with the open bar and make use of the open barrage. And while the party continues I will continue to join the party. Having read the memoirs of a man who was smoking crack and living in squalor did nothing to deter me. Because, I have rationalized, I am not that bad. I’ve never blacked out. I’ve never gone to work still drunk. I’ve never drank a bottle of scotch in one night by myself.
And with all the truths that are pouring from my fingers at this very moment, with all the light that should be blinding to me at this very moment, with all of the higher understanding and knowledge that I have at this very moment, all I want is another drink.