The Life of an Alcoholic

I woke up around 11.  I poached an egg and sizzled two strips of bacon.  Still woozy, I laid in bed and made a few phone calls.  I summoned myself to the couch where I read San Francisco magazine.  After finishing, I still felt like my world was spinning so I went back to bed.  I tossed and turned until 4.

I forced myself to do laundry then headed to In-n-Out.  The cashiers cheered when I said my order: animal style cheeseburger with bun extra toasty and well done fries.  I don’t think the staff at the In-n-Out at Fisherman’s Wharf (which is overrun with tourists) are used to people coming in and ordering from the secret menu.

I’m now back home, sitting hunched over in front of my laptop.  I’m too lazy to fold my clothes. 

I think I had at least five glasses of wine last night.  Let’s see.  A glass of Viognier, a flight of Muscat, and another glass of Muscat at Jardiniere with a girlfriend.  I squirmed in my seat as she talked about her non-exboyfriend boyfriend.  “What do you see in that loser?”  I almost screamed.  “I hate him.  I really really dislike him.  How you can continue to see someone who the majority of your friends and family dislike is beyond me.”  She insisted he was making progress; he’s a different person now.  

“There are three problem areas he had with me and he says he’s gotten past them now.  First, he was scared that I would get fat.”

My eyes almost popped out of their sockets.  “Drop him.  Fucking drop him.”

“Second…”

“I’m sorry.  I don’t want to hear anymore.  He’s scared you might get fat?  Who says that?  I don’t want to hear about these problem areas.  What the hell do you see in this guy?  Drop him.”

But she couldn’t shut up.  I felt so sorry for her and it made me sick to hear about it.  So I kept knocking back the drinks like chocolate milk.  

I was glad she had to take off for a movie.  My married boyfriend was calling to have drinks. We went out for a few rounds and came back home.  I don’t even remember coming back home or getting undressed.  All I remember is him getting up to leave.  “Where are you going?”  I murmured.  

“I can’t sleep.  You’re snoring.”  I think that’s what he said.  Either he said that or I dreampt it.  Either way, he was gone when I woke up.

And then today was shot.  Completely shot.  I’m still reeling from the hangover.

I cannot lose my job because if I did, every day would be shot.  I would drink every night and wake up hung over every morning.  I need the stability of an 8-5 job.  I could never work for myself.  I could never have a flexible, work-from-home schedule.  I like the bottle way too much.

I have narrowed down the men to two.  All the rest are laid off or losers or both.  But there are more to come.  There’s someone tomorrow, another on Tuesday, and an inbox full of others I still need to setup.  I filtered one out already.  I saw his Facebook profile.  Under relationship status, his reads, “It’s Complicated.”  I ended that quickly: “I saw your profile on Facebook. Sorry, I’m not interested in meeting up with someone who is not officially single.  Probably something you should sort out with your quasi-significant other first.”

Is it time for bed yet?  My head still hurts.