Drinking.

Drinking.
Drink
Image by wakingphotolife:
Getting wasted was one of the worst things I could have done. Twice.

The first time was when the night we argued. I was suppose to meet her for dinner. This was the night after she found that I was not completely honest and faithful to her. I drank a bottle of wine and sulked to the bus stop in self-pity where I was supposed to get off.

The bus stop was as far as I could make it. She had waited for me in her office for about 40 minutes. I fucked up. When she finally came, I didn’t even notice her until she stood directly in front of me. I clutched her leg. She escorted me home, holding me against her body like I was some invalid. I had already dressed for dinner. Some trousers, a vest, a nicely ironed shirt. I was ready for a good time, but it was not to be. No right for me to be upset. I did something very wrong. I was ashamed of myself. And with this, I had even more reason to be ashamed.

Self-pity is not good. Better to slap myself and take a cold shower and go for a walk alone.

The second time was towards the end. I don’t know what happened. I was having a good night. We both did. Actually it was a fucking great night. We danced. We saw a live band. We had a good dinner. We met a lot of friends. We went to their home afterward. We were just talking. Everyone was having a good time. I guess my tolerance has been shot to shit ever since last trip. I could drink a lot back then. I don’t know what’s happened to me. Maybe the weight loss. Maybe stress. Could be that I barely ate anything for dinner. It could be that my liver is just fucked. I drank the gin as if it was water. Maybe it’s about timing it right. Time and gin is also a kind of liquor cocktail. Too little time, too much potency.

This second time was really bad because I embarrassed her. Even while blacked out, my mouth couldn’t stop. People say that it’s when your drunk that you’re most honest. Some parts. Other parts make you doubt if you really know yourself as well as you say you do.

What I regret most though was that time was so limited. What was the point of passing out in a cab. Then passing out to sleep at home. It was only three in the morning. Our time was so limited. You want to be aware of every waking minute. To hold it and take it into yourself. Later on, she would tell me that it was no big deal and that everyone thought it was funny and had enjoyed themselves. But it’s not about that or them. Not about fun. It’s about this: time was so limited.

I woke up on Sunday and she was pissed. “Oh well, it’s apart of you now," she said.