Hi.  Do whatever you want with your Livers or mine.  Mine’s up to me.  And mine?

I blew a week of sobriety tonight.  And Outpatient Group is tomorrow.

I’m still sitting in the bar where at one (recent) point I was drinking (now?) such heavy amounts of alcohol every day.  

Cheese and Rice! I’m so altered, I have my Senns on but I haven’t pumped up iTunes!

Y’see? Okay.  iTunes.  Goth.

Why am I drinking after that week was so goddamn easy? It was!!!

Work in my apartment that took hours.  My neighbourhood? Exactly the title of the song I’m listening to right now: “Wasteland” (by The Mission UK.”)  There’s nothing here.

Except a Public Library.  But the work was done too late.  Closed.  Only one place to go.  Three to four hours to wait to go home…where I drink…all the time…and recently every day, or if it was closed, a place across the street.

I brought books, notebooks to write…summon the muse…let her summon you…

Within a half hour hour I caved.  But it’s worse.  While I’m typing this to you? I went home.  I smelled my apartment and felt so sick that I was going to be fumigated too…fucking bedbugs…I opened the window, grabbed baby MacBook and headed right back to the pub.

Now I’m over limit.

I’d rather drink until I fall down…that would take?…well, I’ve had four double Vodkas Neat (i.e. no ice, soda or any of that shit–it’s a sipping drink like whisky.)  So eight drinks? That’s past my limit (limit=three.)  Fuck it.

Genetics.  But as a teenager, always the “good girl.”  Sure, the “initiation” to drinking alcohol for the first time, your first hangover.  You’re a total joke when you look back on yourself.

Enter Bipolar.  Not even knowing I was for about seven years? I could drink most men under the table.  I’m not joking.  That’s why I can sit here and and write a blog post to you.  All calm, treated…no, no…my meds are perfect.  Actually, I mean that.  After SO many years, my cocktail is perfect *takes last ounce of vodka as a shot and heads to bar*

Two more shots=drinks etc. yeah, okay, whatever.  And I’m still here writing.  Does it make sense to you? Still? Maybe it never did from the start.  That’s okay.  It never made any sense to me from the start.

Those years.  Seven? Party.  Go out for lunch with colleagues, then do the same after work.  Alcohol was always downed and drowned.  The first thing out of the mouth I heard when I one of new Manager: “I don’t trust people who don’t drink.”

I partied with friends too.  A wonderful friend always said to me, “It sure helps to sleep fast, doesn’t it, PA?” That was during the Fet. Scene but I drank every day, every night.

There were casualties.  Far too many.

I don’t even know if I was one of them.  If so, surely a lesser one.  That’s how I see it anyway.

Cheers.  And a good song running through my Senns…

“But Not Tonight” by Depeche Mode.

When you AD(H)D Stims kick in hard if they’re the right ones or if they’re going to work at all.  I took my first dose of (then) Concerta and I couldn’t believe it! I had a jaunty little step as this song came up on my iPod (perfect?) and I cried.

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  1. I’m new to blogging. I like your brain and your words.

    Like

  2. Hi eccentrikate. Welcome to my blog and the blogosphere as well!

    Thank you so much for that huge and very flattering, but totally insane compliment! For I am most totally insane!

    But seriously? Thank you very much and please feel free to come back–despite my eternal tardiness.

    Like




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