I Fell Off the Wagon and I Fell Hard…
Mom and dad have three refrigerators in the basement. One is for a delightfully varied mix of diet Sodas. One is for food. And one seems to be for wine as all their friends bring a bottle of wine when they visit. In the third fridge has been two very conspicuously large bottles of expensive wine with a red bow tied to each. A vestige from Christmas. They have been calling my name.
Well, Helen called me this morning after I had gotten home from my injection for my schizophrenia.
“Baby, come have some French toast and bacon,” she said. “Your mommas already eating.”
I was on auto-pilot from that point on it seems. It was all a blur. I ate breakfast. Mom went to bed. Helen was vacuuming the den as I went downstairs and put those two large bottles of wine in my car.
I got home and didn’t have a corkscrew. Corks have never stopped an alcoholic on a mission. George would call this “nigga rigging”. I used a screw, screwdriver and a pair of pliers to get the corks out. I then sat on the floor in my computer room, drinking copious amounts of wine until I was drunk. There went four straight years of sobriety in an instant. One short instant in four years of restraint.
On the bright side, I went to bed about lunch and slept like I have never slept before. I woke up at 7pm tonight wondering what day of the week it was much like mom often does. I wish I had something profound to say, but I will say this, tomorrow is another day and I am not going to wallow in self pity over my indulgence. I will begin again and tomorrow will be day one in a new string of sobriety.