Day Four

According to experts, it takes approximately seventy-two hours for a human being to fully detoxify from alcohol intoxication. The reason I italicize the word 'experts' is simple: It's hard for me to believe that anybody possesses more expertise on this topic than I do. There are those who study a realm of existence, and then there are those who enter that realm, and I'm certain that the two are not mutually exclusive.

Me? I am the latter, so take any and every word you read here today with a grain of salt—a grain that, I'm here to tell ya, it don't feel good going down, friend. Furthermore, I've found that few of these so-called-experts are keen on discussing what's on the other side of the inebriation coin. See, there isn't a whole lot of talk about the day that follows being intoxicated for three in a row.

I know that day well—we're close, close friends. It hurts. It hurts from the end of my hair strands to the tips of my toenails. It hurts, dammit, and what hurts more is that I can prevent it from happening to me, yet I choose not to. There's no magic pill, spell, meeting, guru, prayer, saint, force, nor invisible light strong enough to fix this. And, it's all my fault.

My five year old son asks me to take him to the park. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and try to find a way in which to tell him that I'm too drunk to drive. He won't understand. So, I just stand there. I begin to dance and I watch myself longingly. Slowly and seductively, I remove my hooded sweatshirt, then my pants. I stare at my reflection some more. I am the only audience I have in this moment. I mimic Iggy Pop's dance moves from 1978.

He startles me, my son does. "Mom, please let's go to the park now."