Dry

I enjoy reading about people who were/ are alcoholics. Augusten Burroughs, giving away his dog because he can't be beotherred to stay sober long enough to train or take care of the poor beast? Ha ha, I'm so glad that's not me!

It is, of course. It's me without my husband. It's me without the one thing, the one person who turns me into a human being. I haven't entirely figured out what this means to me - on the one hand, I'm still pretty close to being that drunk, and I think to myself, "God, if only I was rich - if I was super rich, I wouldn't have to deal with any of this shit, I could just be rich and drunk all the time and who would give a fuck?" And then there's the answer: Ryan would care, and he is the one who makes my life worth living, so I guess I'd better goddamn well shape up and stop drinking so much. And there it is: every time I imagine a bottle of smooth, delicious vodka (approximately every 18 minutes), there is Ryan's face: looking not angry, but sort of confused, and sad. And I can't explain what's wrong to him when I'm drunk, so I guess whatever is going on I have to be able to explain sober. That's the challenge, every day. Call me in a decade and see if it's this hard.