How exciting is this shit?  Didn’t smoke today.  Didn’t drink today.  So what the fuck do I write?

I do that shit before posting, it’s not just something to write about, it’s filled the empty hours. Without it, I got nothing to write about. I haven’t gone out to a bar, I’ve sat around the house.

Being at the bar with smoking and drinking is something rather than nothing, and you have people with whom to share it, and you’re getting fucked up. Plus it’s dark so everyone looks good (see also: you’re getting fucked up) and there’s often good music.*

I go to a bar without smoking and drinking, I say to myself, why am I hanging out with these sorry fucks? With smoking and drinking we are comrades, brothers-in-arms, fighting side by side in the trenches.

See? You got something. Sit around sober at home and what do you got? Mocking reminders of what you claim to be, what you claim to be doing. Go to a bar sober and and you see reflections of what you have really become.

I can’t seem to make a solid case for sobriety here. Therefore I’ll probably inflict it on myself for a while.  Let’s see how far down I sink into this morass of sobriety before I allow myself a cheerful bottle with which to buoy myself back upwards.

 

*You see those people in daylight, sober, without a soundtrack, not animated by booze and you have to repress a shudder.  Let’s just say the difference between the bar and reality is striking.