by Madman Blue
Talking about an old freind.
|My name is Andrew, and I am not an alcoholic. I don't wake up to the bottle. I don't walk to work hand in hand with the bottle. I don't skip home to the bottle and tell it about my day. It's the in-between times, when there's no work, there's no play, and there's no inspiration. The long weekday twilight. That's when I call upon my old friend to keep me company.
It whispers sweeter things into my ears than most ever have. It makes me smile at my reflection in the mirror. Maybe even give it a passing compliment, or at least a good courteous nod. With it by my side, I can watch the news and think there is a solution: we just haven't looked hard enough. With enough time together, maybe I can find it myself. After all, it's told me about some of its older friends, Winston Churchill, John A. MacDonald, men with answers.
It tells me I don't need to worry about what the strangers are thinking. With a winning smile and a quick wit, how could anyone refuse my charms? It reminds me that I'm a wonderful musician. When it gets in my way, tangling itself between my fingers on the guitar, erasing my lyrics as I sing, it doesn't matter: my good buddy approves anyway.
It will sit me down and remind me that all the years of hating myself, the anti-depressants and the basement apartments, the panic attacks and the fear of daylight, well... that was just me being silly. It was just a phase. Doesn't even bear remembering.
After all, we travelled to the other side of the world together! And the people it introduced me to! Turns out it has loads of friends, from all continents and all countries. It speaks a thousand languages. It can be sophisticated among high society and wake up in the gutter with the bums the next morning.
When we're apart for a few days, I might reminisce over the good times we've had together. Lots of laughs, a few tears, and a whole slew of things that it promised it would remember for me. When I ask it why it leaves so abruptly, why I feel so sick, why I miss work and lose motivation; well, it's coy. It knows I can't stay mad at it.
My name is Andrew, and I don't have a problem with drinking. I have a problem with myself.