Do you read advice columns? I do every day. The Washington Post runs a daily column by Carolyn Hax that I read while eating breakfast. As I crunch away on my Special K Chocolaty Delight cereal, the game I play is to compare my off-the-cuff response with Carolyn’s. Mine: a knee-jerk reaction to a seemingly … Continue reading Ask Amy
Drinking
Malted
God, how did I wind up at the Jefferson Diner. After our twenty-five-minute sidewalk wait, they crammed the six of us into a booth for four. Me, pinned to the wall with my shoulders angled to take less space. A wall-mounted mini jukebox sat above the table, face-height, eight inches from my nose. A wire … Continue reading Malted
The Date
All alcoholics have a date. The recovering ones. When was your last drink? I’ve talked with people twenty years sober, they can pin it down to the hour. I can’t. I’ve never had a date, or never known one. It was a Sunday in January. The tenth or the seventeenth. Today or next week. It … Continue reading The Date
Six Years “Sober”
Six years sober. Strong word, sober. It implies not drunk. Drunk wasn’t my problem, not six years ago. Twenty-six years ago, drunk fit well. Six years ago, sometimes buzzed, tipsy. But usually, just relaxed... every night. Relaxed or buzzed every night. Until I quit. New Year’s Day seems like a good sobriety anniversary. Easy to … Continue reading Six Years “Sober”
Dry. Part 2.
Dry. It really sucks. Dry, meaning alcohol free, it’s miserable. At least it is for me. Lots of us (dry people) use the euphemism sober. It sounds adult, more mature. I don’t call myself sober because of what it implies, which is: not drunk. It’s not that I’m not not drunk, it’s just that before, … Continue reading Dry. Part 2.
Ennui
Warning: This is long - 2,700 words. Ruminate on my past. Young-adult D.C. shuts down on Thanksgiving weekend. By young-adult, I mean over-twenty-one-but-not-yet-married-and-raising-families. As opposed to the literary genre that attracts readers aged eleven to seventeen. DC's young professionals, the yuppies, they all clear out. They go back to wherever they came from. They spend a … Continue reading Ennui
The Hard Days
I had my last drink almost eleven months ago; I quit somewhere in the middle of last January. But I’m not sure exactly when. And yes, it’s ridiculous that I don’t know the date. I thought I did, but two or three weeks after I quit, I couldn’t remember if it was two or three … Continue reading The Hard Days
The Other Stuff 