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Writing about drinking. Again. I guess that’s better than drinking.

I’ve always written.To myself mostly, and then later to you folks on this blog, whoever you are. Friends? My brother? Strangers maybe.
So there’s this piece I wrote when I was a teenager, somewhere between 14 and 19. My writing from that time is difficult to read, maybe because those years are particularly heavy. Small events become twisted and tangled with insecurities and hormones and feel much larger, more weighted. I don’t know what was upsetting me in this particular piece of writing. A boy, or my parents, probably. What I said was that I longed for relief, in whatever form it may be. I said I wanted that feeling, that presumably people get when they take a drink. This was early days, and although I’d drank, i didn’t really.  So I longed for relief, but clarified, not an actual drink because that just makes me feel nauseous and confused. 
When I think about drinking now, I know that will be what it feels like again. The first one anyway. Before it’s fingers get a hold again
Recent posts

Old writing about him

You turned into a little boy when you crawled into bed. Out of bed you became a man again
Mascara stained pillow cases
I made coffee to seduce you - make you feel a little good about the day - the day you are to die
We couldn’t take our eyes off you for a second, because we knew - a lifetime without looking at you would be never as good.
Powerful in your highs and lows

A song that needs some chords

My best friends purse
She makes a puddle of her things A puddle of herself
Came home tonight The contents of your purse were on the kitchen floor Lipstick, no lid, loose smokes What were you looking for
Wondering when you’ll find All the people you’ve become All the places you run from
Keys were in the door Stockings halfway up the stairs I hear him coming round But I’m not sure he really cares

Going on 10 years

I caught myself going back there again last night. I visit the time and place in my head where he used to be alive. The people are there, his people, and I revisit. Inevitably it always ends with”he’s not back yet” “no” okay, I’ll come backa’ later.
 I know he won’t be back but it feels like maybe next time.
Although our brains are the most sophisticated machines on earth, they’re rendered almost childlike when confronted with grief. They speak only in the simplest terms.
Where is he? He’s gone Why He’s dead When’s he coming back  He’s not That’s ok I’ll wait
How can he be so real in my memory but not real at all in my day to day? So I live with this illogical idea that I know is illogical but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to explain it to my brain for it to fully understand 

Writing about drinking, or not-drinking

I click on all the “articles” and they tell me different variations of things I already know. Statistics mostly, and some exposition about the different types of dangerous drinkers, and those that drink “normally”.

 I'm not sure what I'm trying to find when I click on these articles, like some 22 year old that works at Canada.com, hired to write content for the internet is going to crack the case, put into words exactly what it is about drinking or not-drinking that we all want to read about. He/She is probably just irritated that he/she got the assignment of writing about teetotalling – days after getting smashed at the company Christmas party. What a drag.

So I'll write something, even if it's only relevant to me.

I don't drink anymore. And it's not the end of the world, like I thought it would be.
I could go on about all the positives, but you know them already.
Health.
Money.
Better relationships.

But how about the negatives of not drinking? You …

The South Country Fair

It was one stupid weekend.
He wouldn’t talk to me on the morning I left, because he suddenly wanted to go, but now it was too late. Bye! I yelled to his torso through the open car window.
I wandered through the hippies, reacquainting myself with this alternate reality. Barefooted, bare-bodied youth.

The first night was uneventful, so we drank and smoked and put up a tarp, ruining my car in the process. It was no Frog Fest but it was fun and it was dry. Our more prepared neighbor kept asking if we wanted more rope, which we didn’t. The following morning we wandered through Fort Mcleod, and returned to the festival to discover Nanton friends drinking Pilsners and having songs dedicated to them. They had artist bracelets on because they were Lance’s woofers. We watched Tin & The Toad.

DN played after them. I swooned at his way with words. I’d never seen anything like him, except for that one time.
I was introduced to Kris, as Georgia was handing him beers from our cooler. “The art…

Avoiding Pregnancy as a Modern Female Mammal

As a Canadian, I am grateful for our health care system but also concerned about what's happening in America. What sticks with me the most are the comments on these articles by well-meaning men, who want to chime in but have no leg to stand on.

You know the ones. They don't speak to the availability and affordability of birth control, they speak to the hot issue. The abortion issue. They are pro-choice usually, they want to be open-minded, allowing a woman to choose, but they do not want a woman to "use it as birth control". They have a limit of how many a woman should or shouldn't have had before they cross this man's imaginary line of right or wrong.

This is absurd. A woman does not simply look at her options for birth control and make a conscious decision that an incredibly painful and invasive procedure is what will work best for her life. This is a complicated issue with many other factors at play, namely, accessibility and affordability of birth control…