“Drunkenness is nothing but voluntary madness.” ~Seneca
A few weeks ago I received a phone call from a parent saying that someone had read on my evil little blog that I walked through the streets of Georgetown drunk. I had to correct said parent and say not only have I walked through the streets of Georgetown drunk, but also Chinatown, Gallery Place, Capitol Hill (both the House and Senate sides), Bethesda, Chevy Chase, AU Park, and up and down Connecticut Avenue from 17th street to practically Rockville. All of which doesn’t necessarily make me a raging alcoholic, but a person who has spent a good part of her young adult hood without a stick up my ass.
It hasn’t always been pretty or something that I’m really proud of and I can discuss some really ugly moments with hilarity, but only in hindsight. I am not necessarily proud of myself, but I am a girl who enjoys her wine and when I’ve had too much, I am very well aware and then I make the rather smart and logical decision to umm, not drink, because I enjoy being semi-functional in the mornings and being able to remember where I left my keys.
That said, moving to Upstate NY is a naturally slower pace of life where I’m not rushing around from Happy Hour to events each and every night. Which means that in the last three weeks, I’ve had exactly one bottle of wine and like four beers. No more of this overly priced vodka and club soda, shit. It’s just been straight up Magic Hat and the very last of my Trader Joe’s wine that I smuggled into my mother’s house underneath my sweatshirt.
The lack of drinking has boded well for my mind and given that I’m on some heavy prescriptions, I get up every morning ready and willing and able and not once, feeling like I shoved my head under a tire.
This week I returned to DC for a business trip and Saturday night, I found out the really, really hard way, that I am no longer 19 or 21 for that matter. That perhaps I should stop at three drinks and leave the fourth through sixth drink for the patrons waiting in line behind me. Maybe I needed to move to a place where drinking a bottle of wine an evening isn’t the norm. Maybe I needed the change of pace and my body rejecting vodka so very violently is its way of apprising me of it’s opinion.
This perspective has been carefully considered and duly noted for future reference. And I hope that my liver and I have a more amicable relationship from this point forward.
7 Comments
Hi. Guess what? ME TOO.
(Except, no calls from parents. Learned from vomiting one too many times, last July, in San Jose, where I literally hugged my toilet and wished I could fall asleep with my face in it. Which is kind of gross.)
And no offense to the Hyatt, but that’s I feel a little vomit coming up, that would not be my first choice place to vomit. and be holding the toilet. Bleh.
I bet your liver is writing you a “thank you” note at this very moment.
Going through a bit of this myself but that’s what an afternoon of Zydeco music at Wolf Trap and a bottle of wine will do to a girl.
And it can be argued by some of us who live here that nothing takes the sting out of a night in the DC area like a bottle of wine and a Xanax or two. (Kidding, kidding…and so what if I’m not, I’m allowed. I was born here! And I still have a sense of humor!!!!)
I hope the move will be good for you in all ways.
I hear ya, sister. The last time I got rip roaringly drunk I spent the next two days feeling like I was on death’s door and praying that the mockingly bright sun would go away for GOD’S SAKE!
Good for you, HB.
“Capitol Hill (both the House and Senate sides)”
I must applaud you. You are nothing if not thorough.
Ha, haha. Just stumbled on the site through Whoorl and you’re funny girl. Love it!