Dear Alcohol:

Image by spaceritual via flickr.

It’s time we had a little chat.  We’ve been close friends for quite some time now. Over 15 years!  Unfortunately, I don’t think I can keep up with you any longer.  I love you to bits, but whenever you leave my system you leave me feeling really rough.  It’s starting to bring me down a bit.  Let me explain.

First off, your allure is so enticing.  You come in so many shapes and forms, most of which are delicious.  If you can recall, I first fell for you in the form of an amaretto sour.  Remember those days, where I’d sip you down, under-aged, in a bar near GW’s campus where anyone with any photo ID could gain entry and partake of you?  Remember how scared I was when that police officer walked in, and how he turned out to be picking up a carry-out order?  That was great!

Since then, we’ve definitely generated a storied past together.  You made me do some crazy things.  Remember how you convinced me it was a good idea to bounce on that discarded mattress on the sidewalk the night of my 21st birthday?  My ankle swelled up so big I could hardly wear shoes.   Oh, the nights (and mornings) driving the porcelain bus.  Remember that cab ride home from the super gay disco that night, when my friend was throwing up in the backseat?  The cab driver was driving so fast to get us the fuck out of his cab that I ended up throwing up out the back window too.

Lately, though, I’m not having so much fun with you.  Despite all our good times together, I really need to renegotiate my relationship with you.  You see, there is so much I want to do with my life.  I have a full time job, you know, and a boyfriend and a puppy and friends.  I write for a website, which I also do all the coding for.  Oh, and I cook nearly every food item that I eat.  I enjoy running, cycling and yoga, too.  All those things take up a lot of time.  And at times, I feel like you’re trying to keep me away from these things.

In order for me to do all these things, I’ve started taking special precautions.  Before I spend time with you, I swallow a few Multi-Vs to ensure you don’t make me piss away all my water soluble vitamins.   I split my time out between you and your adversary, water.   I stay up when I get home long enough to drink some more water and nosh a bit to prevent you from angering my stomach.  I take far too much ibuprofen (my boyfriend just came home with a bottle of a thousand pills) for my own good.  When you reluctantly leave me over the course of a Sunday afternoon, I feel so bad that I have to exercise and sweat to force you out all at once.  You leave me feeling off-center, cloudy, and stupid.

On my Sunday runs, I see what you do to other people, too.  I’ve always known our relationship wasn’t exclusive.  But you treat so many others so badly.  I can’t tell you how many people I’ve seen shuffling down the street through the gay ghetto like zombies on bright sunny Sunday afternoons.  Remember the time you made that guy trip up the steps as he was heading into JR’s?  How do you entice all these people into dark, dank bars on such beautiful days?  I hope you don’t mind that I avoid you during the day, usually.

Oh, and I love how you’ve stretched the idea of “happy hour” into a multi-hour block, sometimes lasting until last call.  Was that your idea?  Remember that guy you got so wasted that he was stumbling home at 8 PM on a Wednesday?  Good job, buddy.

So, this is it.  I’m not breaking up with you.  No, I can’t do that.  Your benefits outweigh your risks for me.  But I am going to not be so intimate with you any longer.  I’m going to seek out that fine line between me using you, and you using me.  No more peeing in the alley behind that travel agency on my walk home.  No more flushing meals down the toilet because I loved you too much one night.   No more nights biking home with my head spinning faster than my wheels.  I’m learning how to appreciate you more, perhaps respect you more.  Maybe if I treat you better, you’ll treat me better, too.   Do we have a deal?

With much love,

Michael