Sometimes, I dream about what it's like
to be naturally sober.
I mean, sober without intent.
The kind of sober you don't have to think about
because it's your natural state.
Your homeostasis, if you will.
The kind of sober where
you can drink yourself to sleep at a party,
wake up the next morning,
and go about your life
without craving your next drink.
Unless, of course, there's a Brooklyn 99 premiere tonight
and I thought of an excellent drinking game.
When Terry refers to himself in the third person,
I trade drinks with the third person on my left, and—
Oh, wait.
I'm alone.
The kind of sober where
you can start a diet on Monday,
fail on Wednesday,
scramble to put the pieces of it
back together on Saturday,
and finally give in on Sunday
without eating the entire kitchen
and without giving it to the toilet.
You can still look in the mirror and smile
and mean it
and start all over on Monday,
no collateral damage required.
The kind of sober that doesn't look forward
to communion for the wine,
doesn't see special events as weight loss deadlines,
doesn't drive past your ex-best friend's house in the middle of the night
because you have no friends and you miss being used
but still feeling needed.
I think a lot about being sober.
How nice it must be to see tequila on the bottom shelf
and not instantly taste the worst night of your life.
How easy it must be to take a bottle to the face
and not remember the night you don't quite remember.
I think of the kind of sober that knows the word "no"
and doesn't use that drunken, blurry line as a jump rope.
The kind of sober that would've pushed you away,
told you no
and meant it.
That doesn't flinch at the sound of your name,
that knew better than to skip dinner before tequila,
and knew
just knew,
you were playing me all along.
I dream a lot about being sober.
Like my own personal fairy tale,
starring me as the Damsel
waiting to be rescued by some perfect prince
from some impenetrable fortress,
only to wake up and find my prince
is really an ogre with an ass,
and I don't mean an "ass for days".
Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever truly be sober.
The kind of sober that can eat all my meals
without hating what I see in the mirror.
The kind of sober that doesn't get lonely
because I finally realized that I'm never truly alone.
The kind of sober where I don't need vodka and Red Bull
to have fun with my friends.
That can hit the gym without wanting to hit myself,
eat a donut without wanting to hurl myself off a cliff,
and can tell my boss how I really feel
without losing my temper
and, consequently, my job.
Sometimes, I wonder if being sober has less to do
with staying away from the highs,
and more to do with staying away from people
who make you wish you were dead.
You can find "Kind of Sober" in my book, Flames Speak. Buy it here.
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