this isn't funny anymore. it's not a release, it's not exciting. it's mundane and sloppy and pathetic and it's beginning to scare me.

it went the same way with cigarettes. before i was 18, smoking was fun. it was a social activity, totally under my control. but when i got old enough to buy my own smokes, i was addicted in less than a year. now i see the same symptoms with regard to my drinking. i'm not doing this to myself, i'm not going to let it happen.

last night i got pulled over for flipping my cigarette butt out the window. i've done the same thing all my life. the roads in this country are paved, dirtied and perverted long before i got there. any last remnants of natural beauty along the side are covered in the sediment of the exhaust from the passing cars, leaves greying, wilting, dying already. frankly, it had never even occured to me that a butt out the window counted as littering. but i have a mandatory court date as evidence that i was mistaken.

that's an aside. the cop didn't pull me over for littering. i just gave him an excuse. in hindsight, i realize he'd been following me for a while. because i was drunk.

i got home from work surly and eager for nothing, anxious about the responsibilities i have flaked on, panicked by the state of my life as it stands. i opened the refrigerator once. beer. i went to check e2. it was moving too slowly to hold my attention. no second thoughts, no other provocation necessary, i went back into the kitchen and it was miller time.

there were five beers in the fridge and i'd had a bagel for breakfast and a bag of fritos. as i cracked open the last bottle my roommate asked, 'are you sure you want to have another beer?' i told her i was quite certain i did. after emptying the bottle and depositing the empties in the recycling bin, i strutted out to my car, planning to drive to my friend's to join in a monday night ritual of post-bowling video viewing.

on fourth, i was driving along, feeling no less in control of myself than i ordinarily do. and some fucking jackass blasts through the intersection i'm seconds from crossing. i slam on the brakes. i see that the light was red, and i begin to shake. reverse, back into drive. grab a piece of gum as i wait for the light to change. surreptitiously check my mirrors for signs of authority, and i seem to be all clear. deep breath. ten more blocks. focus.

in one smooth motion, the cigarette is sucked out the window and past my bumper and the lights come on behind me.

'do you know why i pulled you over?'

'umm.. no.'

'i pulled you over because i saw you throw your cigarette out the window. did you know that's illegal?'

'umm, no.'

'can i see your license and registration?' i fumble around in my glove compartment, producing oil change receipts and thousands of expired papers of the type i need to find. 'how much have you had to drink tonight, miss?'

i should have been fearful, wary. but he was young and vulnerable looking and my instinct for self-preservation was as inebriated as all the rest of me. he took me through all the tests. i followed his finger, i held my foot off the ground. i felt i was doing well until he asked me to recite the abc's and stop at n. i ended with, 'q,r,x,z.'

why he didn't take me to jail i don't know. he should have given me a breathalizer test. i wasn't expecting to be allowed back behind the wheel.

maybe it was a psychological game. he's not taking responsibility for me, not this time. it's his job to protect the public from pathetic and dangerous lushes, but it's my job not to be a pathetic and dangerous lush. and i drive drunk too much. last night was the first time i've ever had an incident causing me to realize i wasn't safe behind the wheel, but i had to be slapped in the face with it. people i've loved have been killed by drunk drivers. it makes me wonder what the fuck kind of immoral piece of shit i really am. i'm inclined to think i'm the worst sort.

i am sick of rationalizing stupid and dangerous decisions, sick of being a clown or someone else's vicarious adventure. sick of sticky eyeballs, sick of hairy tongue, sick of charred stomach lining. sick of nights and evenings i don't remember. sick of being a shitty lover because my body is too lazy or too uncoordinated. sick of saying crass, stupid things, telling too many truths, talking shit. sick of regretting.

i'm going to learn to drink moderately. abstinence has never worked for me, so i won't even attempt to leave off the poison altogether. from now on, though, i get a drink and i nurse it. there may be nights when i'm out to get rowdy and i can allow myself two. but the binge drinking has to end, and quickly. this can't go where it's going.