Comeback Jack

I woke up this morning after getting about four hours of sleep. I might have gone to bed earlier, except apparently I had a bit too much coffee late at night when I was trying to stay up.

If I could describe my day using only two words, I think I’d call it “boring” and “strange.”

It was boring because I spent my Saturday pretty much how I’ve spent almost every Saturday since I moved into my house-alone and with nothing to do. I spent an hour or so cleaning just because I was sick of just sitting around watching DVDs, but when you’ve got a fairly small house and live alone it doesn’t get all that dirty.

The part that was strange is a little harder to explain. You see, it’s been seven months and eight days since I’ve had any alcohol. It really hasn’t been that hard or that much of a problem, but today was different.

It wasn’t really that anything was wrong that I was trying to escape from or forget. It wasn’t that my body was suddenly like, “I need alcohol NOW!” I think it was just the fact that I was so bored and I’ve been like this every weekend for a while and somehow I thought it’d make it better.

Maybe being hammered would make the solitude a little easier to ignore. Perhaps a few comeback shots of Jack would make me like the DVDs a little more instead of just being something to zone out to while trying to kill time. Who knows? It might make me be able to feel something more than just isolation.

I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been a huge problem. If I can go seven months with no alcohol, I could’ve probably gotten hammered and then not gone back to being constantly shitfaced.

So there I sat on my fluffy couch after I had finished cleaning. The blinds were open and I was staring out at the full sunlight and in my mind I was trying to tell myself that it would be alright. In fact, I spent about 45 minutes trying to convince myself of that.

Yet I couldn’t just convince myself that it would be alright. I made a promise to someone very important to me and no amount of boredom or self-convincing could make me think that it would be fine if I broke that promise.

True, I could’ve probably done it and they never would’ve known if I didn’t tell them. Or if they suspected something I could’ve lied and said I was just tired or something. But then again, I couldn’t. I won’t.

I’ve fucked up plenty of relationships in my lifetime and that’s probably one reason why I don’t have many left now. But I’ve learned to value what I do have, and I will never do anything intentional to fuck those up or hurt who I care about or lie to them or break a promise.

So I’ll be ok. It isn’t that bad I suppose. Even if they may be hundreds of miles away, at least I have someone to care about more than I care about myself.

And I have coffee and stuff.

*
“We have no future
Heaven wasn’t made for me
Burn ourselves to hell
As fast as it can be
And I wish that I could be the king
Then I’d know that I am not alone.”
*
Marilyn Manson