The clouds started to roll in after lunch -- a gray, looming sky befitting my mood. I drove down to the pawnshop with my portable DVD player in the passenger's side seat next to me.
"Pawn or sell?" the lady asked as I handed over the DVD player.
"Pawn," I said.
"I can give you twenty dollars for it."
"It's a deal," I said, signing the pawn ticket.
I escaped from the pawnshop with twenty dollars in my wallet and headed straight for Fat Albert's convenience store. Throngs of people were playing the lottery as I walked inside. I grabbed a case of cheap beer and headed for the cashier.
"Going to a party?" she asked facetiously.
"This will last me for weeks," I said of the beer, lying. Knowing I would be finished with all this beer by late tonight.
I came home and wrote this for posterity. This blog is a record of my life in electronic form warts and all. I felt immediately better after a few beers. Too bad this will not last as I will get too drunk in a matter of hours. Thus the insanity that is alcoholism. At least I have a smile on my face for the moment -- the first in days.
I hesitated to write this. No one in my blogging life would know if I just stayed glum and quiet. I would never have to deal with disparaging comments or the scorn my succumbing would incite. No one in my real life would know as well. I would just disappear for a few days with no one the wiser. I feel this inescapable urge to confess though. As if I am breaking some carnal law, I want to scream out to the world that I have no control over my drinking. I can't stop. God, why hast though forsaken me? Why have I forsaken myself?
"It's your genes," I just mumbled to myself as I wrote this in between drinks of beer. "You are fucked."
Forever destined to die alone. Alcoholic. Useless. An outcast. I just need to take that Google check and travel to Nashville. There, I know where to get food and where to sleep. There, I won't have Rosa or my family always mad at me or outdone with my most recent alcoholic outburst. I will have no accountability to those that love me and hurt me. I can't help I was born this way and have always been. I can see why, now, the mentally ill and/or alcoholics disappear onto the streets to never be found again. Forever, a nameless grave in some anonymous graveyard after a hard life. No family. No hope. Only a bottle of booze for comfort. It saddens me that I am most likely going to be resigned to this fate. At least I can blog about it and maybe someone will learn from me or just understand.