Forgetting the Lime
About a month ago, I went out for one drink after tennis with my Texarkana tennis peeps. One very small, yet frightfully strong, Bacardi and Diet with lime. OK, so the bartender at Amigo Juan forgot the lime. Which might be why that damn little drink seemed so strong. Of course it might have been because it was the first drink I'd had since my drunken vacation to Alabama a month before. Or it might have been due to dehydration. I'd just finished three tough sets and I never drink enough water when I play. Needless to say, I drove out to a friend's house in Genoa following dinner and that one drink with my hands at ten-and-two and wishing to God that I had some Michael Bolton to listen to. Thankfully the slightly off-kilter me, sans Michael, and my shitty night vision made it there without incident. Immediately I wanted another drink. In fact, I wanted to be drunk. And not for all the right reasons.
No, I wanted to numb the numb. I wanted not be for a few minutes. I was sort of home, but it wasn't working. Being home made me decisively more homesick. It made me want to forget the life I'd just barely started in Austin and move home. Actually, it made me want to stay right where I was and never return to Austin. Even though I'd be leaving behind my favorite jeans. It was that bad. I was that bad. I was as low and lonely as I'd probably ever been. I needed home and not just for a day and a half. I needed to meet my tennis peeps for tennis and a drink EVERY Thursday night. I needed to meet my best friend EVERY Thursday for lunch. I needed to sleep in my own bed. I needed my dogs to bug the shit out of me. I need fried okra from Chicken Express. Above all, I needed to be surrounded by love. Love meant Texarkana and there was nothing Austin could do about it.
In my usual fucked up strong fashion, I didn't drink any more that night. Or any other night for that matter. Drinking and running the risk of being drunk were not allowed. I feared starting for fear I would never stop. I'd drunken my way through sadness before (Evidence: Break Up Diet #1 - Mike's Hard Lemonade. Break Up Diet #3 - Bacardi and Diet Coke) and it worked pretty good. I was numb and rationalized that I coped better. I was full of shit. The alcohol did nothing but give me hangovers and cost me a shit-ton of money. This time I was going to deal with my sadness in a positive manner. I craved rum, absolutely craved it, but I wouldn't give in. I started walking. Every night when a drink sounded really good, I'd walk and walk and walk.
Then one day I realized I was walking because I enjoyed it. Then a few days later I realized I was smiling as I walked. I feared the neighbors would think I was crazy, but I didn't care. I was happy. Life was good and I was going to smile about it, damn it. A few days later I started craving rum again. I not only wanted a drink but I wanted to be a wee bit drunk. I didn't want to be numb; I wasn't running. I guess in a way I wanted to celebrate happy. Truthfully (and it may sound like a load of crap coming from a "happy" person), I didn't think I would ever be happy in Austin. Now, I'm not drunk enough at the moment (more on that in a second) to believe that this happiness will last forever. I'm sure sadness and loneliness will hit again. My life has not, and will never, be perfect. Friends scatter, jobs disappoint, and girlfriends... well, girlfriends do what girlfriends do. Sadness is on the horizon, always is. Add to that the ever-present and seldom subsiding homesickness, and I'm left simply thankful for today.
In fact, I was so thankful for today - day off, a morning and early afternoon spent with my beautiful girlfriend, a pleasant walk at the Hike and Bike, and an empty house this evening - that I decided to give in. On my way to Wal-Mart (where I forgot to buy limes), I stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of rum. On my walk, I'd heard "Toes" by the Zac Brown Band and the seed was planted. I heard the line, "...and I don't know if it's her or the rum". It's a happy song about being right where you want to be whether that's a tropical island or your own backyard. I was sold. Right then and there, I knew how I'd spend my evening. Just like old times in Texarkana, I was going to drink (maybe get a little drunk) and write.
So, now I'm ready for a second. I'm not sure when I'll stop. That said, if you're one of my regular readers, don't call me too early tomorrow morning. By early I mean, 8:30 or 9:00. It's my day off and I just may be nursing a small hangover. We'll see.
No, I wanted to numb the numb. I wanted not be for a few minutes. I was sort of home, but it wasn't working. Being home made me decisively more homesick. It made me want to forget the life I'd just barely started in Austin and move home. Actually, it made me want to stay right where I was and never return to Austin. Even though I'd be leaving behind my favorite jeans. It was that bad. I was that bad. I was as low and lonely as I'd probably ever been. I needed home and not just for a day and a half. I needed to meet my tennis peeps for tennis and a drink EVERY Thursday night. I needed to meet my best friend EVERY Thursday for lunch. I needed to sleep in my own bed. I needed my dogs to bug the shit out of me. I need fried okra from Chicken Express. Above all, I needed to be surrounded by love. Love meant Texarkana and there was nothing Austin could do about it.
In my usual fucked up strong fashion, I didn't drink any more that night. Or any other night for that matter. Drinking and running the risk of being drunk were not allowed. I feared starting for fear I would never stop. I'd drunken my way through sadness before (Evidence: Break Up Diet #1 - Mike's Hard Lemonade. Break Up Diet #3 - Bacardi and Diet Coke) and it worked pretty good. I was numb and rationalized that I coped better. I was full of shit. The alcohol did nothing but give me hangovers and cost me a shit-ton of money. This time I was going to deal with my sadness in a positive manner. I craved rum, absolutely craved it, but I wouldn't give in. I started walking. Every night when a drink sounded really good, I'd walk and walk and walk.
Then one day I realized I was walking because I enjoyed it. Then a few days later I realized I was smiling as I walked. I feared the neighbors would think I was crazy, but I didn't care. I was happy. Life was good and I was going to smile about it, damn it. A few days later I started craving rum again. I not only wanted a drink but I wanted to be a wee bit drunk. I didn't want to be numb; I wasn't running. I guess in a way I wanted to celebrate happy. Truthfully (and it may sound like a load of crap coming from a "happy" person), I didn't think I would ever be happy in Austin. Now, I'm not drunk enough at the moment (more on that in a second) to believe that this happiness will last forever. I'm sure sadness and loneliness will hit again. My life has not, and will never, be perfect. Friends scatter, jobs disappoint, and girlfriends... well, girlfriends do what girlfriends do. Sadness is on the horizon, always is. Add to that the ever-present and seldom subsiding homesickness, and I'm left simply thankful for today.
In fact, I was so thankful for today - day off, a morning and early afternoon spent with my beautiful girlfriend, a pleasant walk at the Hike and Bike, and an empty house this evening - that I decided to give in. On my way to Wal-Mart (where I forgot to buy limes), I stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of rum. On my walk, I'd heard "Toes" by the Zac Brown Band and the seed was planted. I heard the line, "...and I don't know if it's her or the rum". It's a happy song about being right where you want to be whether that's a tropical island or your own backyard. I was sold. Right then and there, I knew how I'd spend my evening. Just like old times in Texarkana, I was going to drink (maybe get a little drunk) and write.
So, now I'm ready for a second. I'm not sure when I'll stop. That said, if you're one of my regular readers, don't call me too early tomorrow morning. By early I mean, 8:30 or 9:00. It's my day off and I just may be nursing a small hangover. We'll see.
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