The tremendous fact for every one of us is that we have discovered a common solution

Day 8 of sobriety, and it is officially no longer interesting. It blows, truly. The physical part is nice. We aren't a shaking, stinking, shitting drunk. Just a brooding, recovering one. We feel better. We look better, we think, although none of the women at the bars we went to tonight paid us any mind whatsoever. Sitting at the bar drinking Sprites and Ginger Ales, tapping your toes to the DJ, makes you feel like a fucking grade-A chump. People are around you, swirling, having a great time, looking stupid and happy and full of piss and vinegar and taking pictures of their joy and there you sit, full of your dull, silent mourning, boring your roommate to tears. Nothing could be less interesting than you. And now we are home, listening to George Noory talk with some crackpot about objects on the other side of the sun and how the Russians have already conquered Venus and large triangular shaped military cargo craft in the skies over Washington DC filled with whites and greys and the corpses of Walt Disney and Burl Ives. There is a lit cigarette and a glass of Diet 7-Up sitting on the coffee table. Signs of life. We are passing time until we can take the pills to go to sleep.

Your correspondents know it is stupid to go out to bars on a Friday night. Spare us the lecture. Useless temptations abound, true true. Turn on your TV, jack. It's all there. You might as well stare it in the face. We are bound to defeat the alcohol monster in our own way. Tonight we sat and watched the bartender at Club Foot make drink after drink. Everything we have ever loved: vodka and tonic, Maker's neat, Jameson on the rocks, PBR, Jack and Coke, even a martini. We honestly weren't tempted even once. We haven't figured it out yet, how exactly we are going to do this, in the long run. Maybe AA, maybe not. AA kind of freaks us out. We are still not down with giving ourselves to a higher power, no matter how much of the blue book we have read and how much we have prayed and hoped. We think we'll keep going to meetings to hear stories and for the sake of maintenance, but many of the steps seem pointless to us. For instance, we bear no real resentment towards anyone, apart from our own weakness. We feel like we've haven't apologized to everyone we need to, and that lingers in the backs of our minds. Maybe we'll try some James Frey type hardcore shit, maybe not. After all, he did turn out to be a lying douchebag.

Maybe a year or two from now we'll have the strength to be a normal social drinker like so many others, and maybe not. We don't have any goals, honestly, other than one day at a time. We could go into deeper discussions regarding God, our responsibility to ourselves and our friends, etc. but we are going to save our breath for another day. Another day at a time. Until then, you are going to have to read these pathetic ramblings and hope our mood improves and our sense of humor rebounds. Or not. Statcounter numbers are dropping like the President's approval rating. Not that we blame any of you. Anyway, we are going to listen to the new Cat Power now, or maybe Lil' Wayne. We bought some new records to treat ourselves today, even though our bank account is tapped, and we just spent 185 bucks (!!) on meds this afternoon. Hey, we could have bought 750 ML of Gordon's instead.




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