Another hungover morning.
Aren’t they all?
Maybe I finished my last drink, maybe I passed out before I could.
There’s likely at least something left in my glass from the night before. Something strong.
Why wouldn’t I drink it?
It’s already made. It’s just a little. I’m not actually pouring a drink. It doesn’t really count if I don’t pour it.
It’s just there.
Not enough to get me drunk, maybe just enough to get me feeling better.
Even if there isn’t any left, I’m going to make one anyway. Maybe one after that.
Physically bound as much as emotionally.
I’m nothing without it. I don’t know who I’d be.
I don’t know who I am with it either.
Sobriety will come. It has to.
But today is not that day. This month is not that month. I’m not ready.
Is anyone ever ready?