She actually said the words “…this is an intervention.”
I got… an intervention?
For the past five years, ever since that incident at that Halloween party, I’ve been sober. The running joke between all of my closest friends has been to get me drunk, stoned, or otherwise inebriated. They always thought it would be funny.
I finally gave a little leeway a couple years ago, and would have one drink when I went out. Something light, that I could nurse for three to four hours at a time.
It meant I didn’t have to explain every thirty seconds why I was at a bar without drinking.
If I got to the end of the night without finishing the drink, I’d just dump it down the toilet or leave it on a table somewhere.
This worked great for me, right up until a few months ago, when I threw in the towel.
Don’t date an alcoholic. Don’t date an alcoholic. Don’t date an alcoholic.
This is in no way saying anything bad about Sam.
It’s just… friendly advice.
Oh, and if you do- like me- find yourself dating an alcoholic, don’t go with the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” method.
Helen and I were going to meet up the other night.
“Bar?”
“Uh… No. You’ve been drinking a little too much lately. You need to maybe take some time off.”
I was confused. I mean… yes. I had found myself in an alleyway in my underwear the other night, sitting in the gravel and talking to stray cats because the world was spinning and Sam’s bedroom was too hot… but that’d been the first time I’d been actually “drunk” in months.
And I blamed it on that last shot of Jameson.
Which, when I did the bar tab math, had been my twelfth drink on an empty stomach.
This is the point where I went:
“wait. I was sitting in an alley in my underwear.
In the exact spot Sam used as a bathroom, whenever he didn’t want to go upstairs.
In my underwear.
In an alley.
In weeds and gravel.
Talking to stray cats.
While Sam was passed out drunk in bed.
And then I got dressed, snuck out, and walked a mile home trash drunk to pass out fully clothed.”
I’d like to note, with some misplaced pride here, that I never once threw up that night.
Point to Helen. I’ve been drinking too much lately.
I’ve decided to put some healthier limits on my nights out- especially because I’m out 6 to 7 nights a week.
Mondays and Wednesdays… free nights.
Every other night, one drink maximum.
I have to say, it kind of blows.
