Spent most of the week in the wilderness, drinking only detox levels of alcohol. The amount it would take to stop me from shaking and hallucinating giant worms chewing their way out of my body, etc. I haven’t actually tried not drinking. I am probably not at the level where I’d have any real effects, I’d probably just be crabby. But I read somewhere that you can’t just stop drinking, that it could kill you. So I use this as an excuse to drink. I am “tapering off.”
After this, who knows. Maybe I’ll join Alcoholics Anonymous. Except every person I’ve ever known in Alcoholics Anonymous sucks. They’re either a sanctimonious pain in the ass who can’t shut the fuck up about “the program” or they’re just– you sit in a room with them and you feel the waves of misery shimmering off them. They broadcast unhappiness. They are touchy, sensitive to slight, humorless, cruel when they have a chance. I don’t want to be one of these people.
They tell you you can get laid in Alcoholics Anonymous, but of course, like all the other places they tell you you can get laid it’s bullshit. I’ve been to a couple meetings and it’s a sausage fest. 8 to 1, 9 to 1. About a Los Angeles bar ratio in other words, and the guys who are pulling ass are probably the long haulers, the experienced AA guys who can reassuringly quote the Big Book to the girl bass player who just got her third DUI. Like any cult, the new guy doesn’t get pussy. You probably have to spend years horning your way in to some social scene of people who drink coffee in diners at 1am and trade stories about relatives they ran over. Shaky failed comedians who sit around and one up each other with stories of how bad they once were.
And who wants to hear about shit like that.
