I really do love beer.

I love wine too but I simply fall apart with the harder stuff.

I love everything about beer.

I love how the glass feels in my hand. How cold it tastes on a hot summer day. I love the bubbles that fight each other to get to the surface of the pint. I love how it tastes. I love how it makes me feel but I’m surprised I don’t have it more often than I do, but there is a good reason for that.

This is not a lecture or a public service announcement about the dangers of alcohol. I am not a preacher or a politician. I’m just sharing my thoughts on the matter and you are free to do with them what you wish. I certainly wouldn’t stop you, even if I could.

I love the weightlessness and confidence that comes from getting a little drunk. It is very relaxing. Very calming. But it doesn’t last. I find that after the second pint it all becomes very tedious. It fails to be pleasurable and becomes work. I can’t really taste the beer anymore. It has hidden its coldness and I could give a rats fart about the bubbles. It is no longer as satisfying as the first few sips. It is a letdown and I guard myself against it becoming a habit.

I am not an alcoholic but I have lived with one.

I remember the first time I came home a little drunk from a party, my dear mother was very hurt. She didn’t say much, but I knew by the way she looked at me that she was very disappointed. She was never disappointed, which is why this memory and her expression has stuck with me for so long. She always told me that she prayed and prayed I wouldn’t let booze effect my life. It makes me smile today to know that she is not disappointed.

Ok. There might have been a few evenings or weekends that are not worth mentioning.

There may or may not be a story or two. There might be a broken shed. I might have had the words Goodyear impeded into my forehead one cool summer evening. I may or many not have danced on a table in a busy restaurant and asked the waitress if I looked sexy.

But regardless of the stories that make me human, and as much as I love beer, I really truly hate the hangover and all that goes with it. I hate the tiredness. I hate the turbulent feeling in my stomach. Most of all, however, I hate giving up a day and dragging my ass. Time is very important to me and I won’t trade my Sunday for a fun Saturday night.

I just don’t see the point. I love the feeling I can get, but I don’t see the point.

I think living for the weekend is stupid. I think going through the motions of  life and living to get away to Jamaica or Cuba is most unbecoming. I think tossing away a day of my life for a bit of fun and some stories to tell is unforgivable.

I think alcohol is worse that guns because it is always present when the crazy shit goes down. I don’t want to ban anything. I only wish there were a lot less bullets.

We look away and ignore people who kill themselves with drink yet we are so sensitive when someone fires a bullet.But what about the silver bullet? Does it matter what chamber it gets fired from?

But I don’t judge anyone. I don’t judge because I think I understand addictions. My poor hand always tremble when I see a donut. My pours sweat when I see others run.

I’m addicted to many things but I am not defeated.

I believe I’m free.

Free to have a cold beer.

Free not to give up on my faculties.

Free not to lose a day.


Cover photo generously provided by photographer Jake Bradley via unsplash.com