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Sober Curious, or Scurrilous?

I suppose there's only one way to find out.

By Sherry McGuinnPublished 2 years ago 5 min read
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Image by René van Belzen/Flickr.Com

My recent semi-public fuck-up has me reassessing my “relationship” with alcohol. And not for the first time.

I suppose that should tell me something. And it would if I wasn’t adept at selective denial.

After the Christmas Eve debacle at my sister’s house, I’ve come to the conclusion that I should avoid such gatherings for the time being as I never know what will trigger my aptitude for going full-tilt asshole. Especially where family is concerned.

As I stated in the story I linked to below, the night before Christmas was more of a get-together for my brother-in-law’s family, which only fueled memories of holiday seasons past, when my parents and inlaws were alive. And when my brother and I were still speaking.

Six years is a long time to be estranged from someone. Long enough to stop missing those who have drifted out of our lives. And I don’t miss him. Whenever I recall that I once had a brother, it’s with an odd detachment, almost as if he never existed at all.

But the oh-so-merry holiday season is relentless that way. In spite of all the hundreds of twinkle lights everywhere we turn, our brains can take a one-way ticket to the dark side, to return only when the last decoration is packed away and not a minute sooner.

Although my unfortunate behavior at my sister’s house didn’t devolve to “full-tilt” status, I was well on my way, as once again, my food intake didn’t keep pace with my drinking. And that, as anyone who’s been there knows, is a recipe for disaster.

I wish I had an explanation for this other than the sad reality, which is my inability to control that “switch” in my brain that almost instantaneously sets me on the road to Assholeville.

Hold up. That makes me sound like a wuss, which I’m not. I know better. I know that the only way to maintain is to defuse that bastard of a switch. So why don’t I do just that? Am I trying to fuck up the relationships that still mean something to me?

I’ve never been socially inept. I don’t need a drink to feel comfortable around people I barely know. In fact, I’m normally outgoing and somewhat gregarious.

And therein likes the issue. “Normally.” There is nothing normal about life amidst a pandemic. Instead, there is shit storm upon shit storm like new and deadlier Covid variants, kids getting shot in retail store dressing rooms by those tasked to serve and protect, hungry families, empty grocery store shelves, and people who don’t believe in the preventive measures we all must take if we’re going to see light at the end of this pitch-dark tunnel.

No. This is not an excuse to drink to excess but damn it, it doesn’t help.

As I think about it, It’s only been within this long, bad patch of Pandemica that I’ve behaved inappropriately around my family. And my sister’s family, of all things. She and my nephews and niece mean the world to me but I’ve allowed myself to morph into a cliche in front of their eyes.

“Better keep an eye on Aunt Sherry as she’ll get wasted AF if we don’t.”

But of course, they can drink like fish. Multiple shots. Outrageous mixed drinks with dumbass names. You name it, they can throw it down. How they can keep it down is a mystery to me. Probably because they’re young, made of “fire and music” and me, well, as Bette Davis’ Margo Channing says in All About Eve, I’m an “old kazoo with some sparklers.”

I did get to wear one of my signature red lipsticks, though. The kind that doesn’t leave a telltale mark on a rock's glass.

Good on me. The perfect guest.

Over the last few years, there’s been much talk about “Dry January.” According to Woman’s Day, 2013 was the year that post-holiday boozers decided it would be a good idea to get sober for a month. Give the mind and the body time to recover resulting in better sleep, clearer skin — and the feeling that you’d like to rip somebody’s head off.

Nah. I made up that last one, but I remember when I attempted to quit several months ago. I had tons of energy, which is rarely a problem for me. On the downside, I felt mean and jittery AF.

That said, I’m considering giving it a shot once 2021 makes its final exit. Pun intended.

Does anyone want to join me, for shits and grins? If you’re unsure whether you need to take a break from your amigo, Tito, check out the following red flags, also from Woman’s Day.

You’re feeling ineffective at work or in your personal life

Your drinking is having a negative impact on your relationships

You’re preoccupied with when you’ll be able to drink next

You aren’t able to do simple activities without drinking

You often feel irritable (especially while drinking or after drinking)

You often feel dehydrated and/or bloated

You sometimes forget what you did while you were intoxicated

You’re spending more money than you want to on alcohol

Alright. Full disclosure. I checked off “around” five. Or so. How about you? Are you a take-it-or-leave-it kind of a drinker? Or does the bar seem to open earlier these days? Say, three o’clock instead of five?

Those take-it-or-leave-it folks. Oh, how I envy them. As well as the social drinkers who only imbibe when at a party, or dining out. How I wish I’d floated past the hard partiers in my gene pool. But, I didn’t. I dog-paddled right along with them. And it’s up to me to figure this out or go from full-tilt asshole to full-tilt hermit.

My sister worries about me and that hurts. Because I would never knowingly do anything to cause her grief. Yet I have. And now all I can do is wait for this latest episode to blow over.

Of course, going forward, I will forever be wondering if they’re watching me like hawks when we’re together. That in and of itself makes me want to drink.

Resolutions. I rarely make them as I don’t believe in them. What’s the point? You’re either going to do something or you’re not. That said, for 2022, I will try to modify my consumption of alcohol by giving “Dry January” a shot. I might even document the “journey” right here on Medium. Even if I fuck up.

Note, I said try. And, I didn’t say that I’d quit drinking, altogether. But, if I make it through the month, who knows? Miracles occur every day. Or so they say.

Is anyone with me?

Sherry McGuinn is a slightly-twisted, longtime Chicago-area writer and award-winning screenwriter. She is currently pitching her newest screenplay, “The Month We Fell Apart,” a drama with dark, comedic overtones and inspired by a true story, as well as “DEAD TIRED,” a female-driven, ass-kicking thriller.

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About the Creator

Sherry McGuinn

I'm a long-time, Chicago area writer and big-time dreamer. I'm also an award-winning screenwriter, cat Mama and red lip aficionado.

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