That kind of a day...

I'm drunk...  Not by accident.  Not slowly.

No, I'm drunk very deliberately and very quickly with an almost scientific precision.  Because I drink fairly rarely, I worked hard at figuring out exactly where the tipping point is with various types of alcohol. How many glasses of wine does it take before I am buzzed?  One and a half.  How many before I'm sick and throwing up?  Two and beyond.  I don't get drunk on wine - I get depressed or I get sick, there's no middle ground.  I don't drink wine unless I want to become very maudlin and cry.

Today I just wanted to get f*cking drunk and very quickly.  I wanted to shut off my brain and to do it basically on demand so my choice of poison is potcheen.  What's better than Irish moonshine?  90 proof - two shots, swallowed quickly, and I can't hold my head up, I can't walk, I can't really do much but sit right where I am and wait for the waves of gentle wooziness to pass.

The room is tilting slightly as if I'm on a ferry and the cat appears to be floating on the arm of the couch.  I'm making spelling errors in every other word but I'm just sober enough to notice and correct them as I go.  I type "blindly" and being drunk, it's even more important not to look at the keyboard because otherwise my brain tries to tell my fingers what to do and the directions get all scrambled so my eyes are closed as I'm typing this. I only open them when I feel that I've made a typo.

So, why drink tonight?  Because it's just that kind of an evening and it's been that kind of a day.  Hell, it's been that kind of a week.  My week has been an hourglass of irritations, frustrations and upsets - all of them dripping down into an ever-growing mountain and today, the mountain just got to be too much.

And why drink at all?  Because if I don't, I can't shut off my brain.  It keeps spooling back over the day and the week and all the negative things it brought with it.  I try to distract it with reading or TV, but like an obstinate child focused on a toy he wants, my brain just doesn't listen.  All it wants is to endlessly replay all the bits of the world that I want to leave behind when I come home.

I wish my brain had an off switch...  and I guess, it does.  I'm done.