I was once told that you should never drink alone. Drinking alone means you’re an alcoholic, something around those lines. Its not that I crave the drink. It’s not that I need the drink, its that I always need something to take the edge off. I realize the older I get I don’t care for drinking. I don’t care about being belligerent that I have to black out my thoughts. I am not trying to run away from anything but every once in a while it’s nice to escape. Feel fuzzy and feel better.
I have drank with thousands of people. Friends, foes, strangers, and family, you name it. Never alone. I wonder if its the fear of losing control that doesn’t allow me to drink alone. The fear of losing myself and allowing the gates of my mind, to flood open with nostalgia and reoccurring memories. Today I found myself alone for no reason at all. When you come from a large family, you seldom have a moment to yourself, let alone be alone. But today I found myself alone and nursing a glass of my favorite beer. It wasn’t meant to happen. Seeing beer poured into glasses and watching as one by one everyone started scattering out into the streets, or on the patio or to other areas of the house. I sat with my glass and for the first time contemplated to drink.
To drink alone is a sad definition of loneliness. While I didn’t feel alone, watching people scatter slowly to other places, I found myself alone without anyone. No one to tell a funny story. No one to say how I feel. No way to truly express myself. My fingers gripped the glass and slowly bringing the glass towards me. I waited. I waited because it’s what I always do, wait for answers. Wait for questions, wait for people to scatter back in and out of my life. I have spent a lifetime of waiting and realized that people will always scatter back in and later back out of my life, whats the point of waiting anyway? It doesn’t make much sense to wait.
I sit and wait and every moment passes me by. The condensation from the glass keeps my finger prints intact. The longer I wait the realization comes in. I can’t do this alone. Sitting here and waiting for people to scatter back in, the longer I continue to wait for them. It’s what I do best. Wait for the right time, wait for the right moment, wait for the right people to scatter out then back into my life. But the waiting makes me more anxious. The more anxious I become, the more likely I am to take the edge off. I was never a person to believe in “can’t” but lately I have been finding myself doing so. The closer the glass comes toward me, the more likely I am to drink. I can’t keep waiting anymore.