Day 11
The will grows weaker. Another abysmal weekend spent in the cold, clingy, nightmare-ish arms of sobriety has left me a shell of my former self. Of course that shell being a shell of another former self, so, kinda like an oyster i guess? Maybe a hermit crab? Whatever has 2 shells, but not at the same time....and no pearls.
The searing brightness of the day tormented me throughout my conscious time. I find myself sleeping only 6 to 8 hours before waking up, instead of the blissful 15 hours that are normally needed after a massive bender in TJ. Even having both of my kidneys and not waking up in a tub full of ice is a cold slap to the harsh reality of my predicament. I mean not as cold as the tub full of ice, but metaphorically speaking, still really cold....like a soda can from the fridge cold, or a salmon leaping from a river bank and slapping you in the face which I still say that little jerk did on purpose! I mean 150 fish all jumping upstream and one, JUST ONE, manages to go at a 90 degree angle....you know what...both the fish and I agreed to let it go...especially since a bear caught him afterwards and I assume they lived happily ever after.
The shakes have become so common place, I fear that maybe at this point it's no longer the DTs, but I might have epilepsy. Or I'm an awesome dubstep dancer...even when there is no music. Which of course, without alcohol, there is never music anymore. The theme-song of my life has gone silent, oh how I miss Captain and Tennille!!
Still more than a month remains in my self-induced catharsis, I don't know if I'll be able to make it. At every corner the sweet, soft voice of booze beckons me to shuck my faith and rejoin him in a bottomless glass of pain-free existence. So, seriously, if at the end of all things, the bouncer at the pearly gates gives me any grief, I will shank him with a rusty spoon! Now, I need to amend my will so that I'm buried with a rusty spoon.