I’m the type of person you want to keep busy.
There. I said it.
I’m Allen T. St. Clair and I require a constant stream of stimulus to keep the voices in my head from stepping forward and say “Pssst. Hey. Hey! You know what would be really funny???”
The voices in my head are assholes – FYI. And nothing they come up with is funny to anyone but them. But, for the most part, they only bother me and no one else knows what’s going on up there besides myself.
Surprisingly (or not), the voices fuck with me less now that I don’t drink hardly ever. I know whenever I say “I don’t really drink”, that confuses a lot of people–especially those that knew me back in the day. It’s like Hannibal Lecter saying, “I’ll have the salad.” I totally get it.
But, after so many “morning afters”, something has to be done to stop the voices and their ideas, right?
Waking up to smashed pumpkins all over the backyard and vaguely remembering playing baseball with a steel pipe and Jack-O-Lanterns with your best friend the night before is odd.
Waking up to your bedroom window wide open and the screen pushed out, wondering if someone snuck in during the night (or escaped) is startling.
Waking up, wondering what that smell is, then seeing the Sonic Route 44 cup full of upchuck on your bedside table is downright disturbing.
I mean, the only good aspect of that scenario is that you didn’t grab it and take a drink without looking inside first.
For those that followed me on social media back in the day, you may remember my bright idea to drink an entire box of wine by myself while “live-tweeting” it. At one point, I just pulled the bag out of the box and drank from the spigot.*
And waking up on the “Ghettozebo” in the backyard, completely drenched, and it’s still raining, brings up a few questions as well.
To be clear–I’ve never had a full alcohol-induced blackout. The statements I just made would lead one to believe that I have, in fact, had several–but I conveniently forget details. I say I don’t know how I got from Point A to Point B–but I remember. I might forget minor details, like what brand name or color of toaster I used as a weapon once**–but things happen so fast when you’re drunk and the voices are suggesting things.
But, the Jack-O-Lantern baseball was just a fun, mostly harmless late Halloween evening event that we could participate in after several tumblers of Southern Comfort.
The open window with the screen missing was from getting too hot, so I felt the window needed to be open and the screen was blocking the breeze so it had to come out, too. The fact that it was January doesn’t really matter.
The Route 44 cup? Couldn’t make it to the bathroom. I put the lid back on when I was done, though.
Live-tweeting my epic journey to drink a whole box of wine just sounded funny. And it was. But I only got 3/4’s of the way done. Things went much better the first time I did it with a two-gallon jug of E&J Gallo White Zinfandel.
And the “Ghettozebo” incident involved Everclear Punch and the feeling that walking might bring about the Apocalypse. Reasonable, right?
Needless to say, I’m glad that the voices don’t have chemical assistance now. I mean, sure, I’m planning on buying a tuxedo and a top hat for Jolene and dressing her up. Might change her name to “Marlene”, but that’s beside the point.
The voices now tell me to do things that probably won’t result in a P.I. citation or Noise Disturbance citation. I call that a win. As long as things stay on the up-and-up, I’ll just keep letting the fuckers live in my head rent-free.
*I’d totally do it again if Franzia wants to toss some sponsorship dollars my way. If you work for or represent Franzia, you can reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org.
**It was a white Black & Decker toaster. It totally worked afterward, which is why I’ve only bought that brand ever since. If you work for Black & Decker and would like for me to represent your brand, you can reach me at email@example.com.
Until next time…