Drifting Off To Sleep
May 8th, 2005
INSPIRATION: Well, the combination of a bit of Chandon sparkling wine and being tired conspired to make me write this. Once again, you see the mention of my generic male character, Ron. I really hope he does some tricks for me one of these days…
Written: 05.07.05
Drifting Off To Sleep
When you’re drunk, there’s no “drifing off to sleep.” There’s no serene time of silence to gather your thoughts from the day and to consider the importance of events. That time of introspection is gone, in its place a frantic struggle to remember the details of what just happened to you. There’s no time to hear the usual noises of the neighborhood, the sounds through the thin walls of Sandy, your token nosey neighbor, getting a midnight snack. The frustration over hearing those inconsiderate jerks across the parking lot laughing like hyenas at 11:30pm will not set in when you’re drunk. That’s the good news.
When you’re drunk and you go to sleep, you pass out. It’s almost like good ol’ Mr. Sandman turns into Mike Tyson and uppercuts you to sleep. One minute, you’re awake and the room is pleasantly spinning, your eyes tracking just a tad behind your brain as you look around. The next minute, it’s painfully bright in the room, it’s morning, and you’re not sure you should lift your head from the pillow. Either that, or the pounding headache that will haunt you for the next 8 hours has already set in. But no matter what, the previous night’s alcohol sits like a dead, furry cat in your mouth.
So, when you’re drunk, life is set in black and white: you’re either sick for the day or not, you’re either awake or not. When you’re drunk, inhibitions are gone and you’re free to say what you want to without thinking too much about social mores to hold you back. It’s only when you’re sober that the shades of gray creep in and fuck everything up.
This is a realization that Ron had 3 years ago. He’s kept a bottle of gin next to his alarm clock ever since, with refills in a well-stocked dry bar in the den.