Little Bill

I don’t think I’ve ever found myself dependent upon any substance. It makes me wonder, at times, what it must be like to actually have that uncontrollable urge for something like cigarettes or alcohol. As a social New Yorker, I’ve observed the role drinking has in social gatherings. It’s a means of eroding inhibitions and allowing everyone to loosen up and have a good time. I drink quite a bit too and even find myself drunk on occasion. I enjoy drinking, having a good time with my friends. I even like to enjoy a very expensive glass of Johnnie Walker Blue from time to time. However I’ve never found it to be something I actually craved.

From what I’ve been told and — more importantly — observed, alcoholism runs in my family. I might even venture to guess that it runs in both sides of my family. I’ve seen its effects on family gatherings. One Christmas in particular I cannot remember, except for the arguments with a family member whose drunken belligerency nearly raised my temper to violent levels.

This very same family member has been visiting this week. And along with him has come his girlfriend. And with the both of them have come tallboys of Bud. Granted, they’re younger than me and on vacation this week, but I recall the girlfriend not being without a can of beer in the entire eight hour span they spent in the apartment. And this was before they decided to go out for drinks.

This morning she woke up feeling terrible. “It was the tequila shots,” my brother said.

I suggested maybe they not drink for the day. She suggested another drink will actually make her feel better.

This evening I cleaned off my counter from beer cans and bottles. When they finished up their Buds, they went and drank my bottles of nice, tasty, dark beer. Y’know, local microbrews. Without asking. My apartment has turned into a dorm room. I’ve been a patient host. Having to let them in at 4am and subsequently hush them because of their drunken psycho cab ride stories wears that patience down. Fortunately for me it’s now Friday.

I just don’t get it. Really. I don’t.

I woke up yesterday to discover it was Saturday. I didn’t know what to do with myself. My life has, since the new year, been spent almost exclusively at home — I work at home — so having a day off is somewhat anticlimactic now.

It used to be that, when the weekend came, I would run around trying to get the errands done that I couldn’t get to all week. Now, since I’m home all of the time, my errands are done. All of them. Which means when I woke up I had nothing to do . . . or, at least, nothing pressing.

I found myself feeling rather guilty for sitting on the couch for two hours and watching Star Wars with my roommates, but not for very long. ;)

In other news: JELL-O Pudding Pops have returned. Why wasn’t I given the memo?

I’ve recently come to the conclusion that there are people out there who are good at being sick, and those who aren’t. By that I mean that there are those of us who can embrace its perks — such as indulging in the freedom to walk around in your PJs all day, watching the original Star Wars Trilogy on the couch and, of course, the beauty that is magically-appearing-at-your-front-door sesame chicken combinations complete with egg rolls. Other benefits include the joy of not being at work, the freedom to sit and read all day if you like, or simply to sleep; curled up beneath stacks and stacks of big fuzzy blankets.

Then there are those of us who see being sick as a curse. Those who would rather bitch and moan about how they’re not getting anything done, how their TPS reports aren’t going to be filed on time. "Oh woe is me, I cannot breathe, I cannot function." I cannot understand this.

I say we should all embrace being sick. It’s a reprieve from the daily grind. It is a part of our lives and we shouldn’t shun it like our drunk uncle Bob, we should welcome it into our world knowing full well that we’ll all miss Uncle Bob’s holiday antics once we’re back at our desks looking at the clock wondering why lunchtime can’t come faster.

All that said, could someone bring me a new box of tissues or two? Mope mope mope. Hee!