“How was the party?” my friend asked.
“Kind of insufferable, ” I replied, “just a bunch of artsy people, drinking in circles and talking about themselves.”
“So it was standard?”
At 26 this was what my fun was reduced to-drinking with a small group of people talking about myself at a larger party. I figure this is how you’re supposed to make friends in a new place, but even with a good buzz going it all felt a little cheap. Plus, a few of my new friends had taken a vow of predominant sobriety.
“Think of all the things you’ve wanted to do sober, and how those change when you open a beer.”
It’s true. Grammar aside, even the phrases I write while drunk are so awful-even the snootiest of hipsters couldn’t find a correlation to thought or emotion. They scream hysterics rather than feeling.
If I want to get anything done in this world I can’t be under the influence of anything except that of which I am doing. If I am trying to love than I want to be drunk with it. If I need to write, I almost want to drown in the time spent tapping away at my laptop. I want to wake up feeling refreshed and not foggy.
Growing up means having a better taste for the bottle, and knowing when to put it down. Cut back reflect. Indulge in what makes you feel.