Second night at AA. I didn’t talk much this time beyond the obligatory “I’m Quinn and I’m an alcoholic”, “Hi, Bill”, “Thank you, Bill.” I gave my number to a good looking guy, my age or (probably) younger. I am regretting this. It brings on the kind of anxiety I had when the ex-wife and I gave our number to a “friendly” waiter at Raj Mahal who turned out to be an Amway drone. That’s what AA reminds me of– a cult. Not in...
“My name is Quinn and I’m an … alcoholic.” Most of those present seemed to assume the pause before the term was because I was loathe to admit such a condition, but it was only that I wasn’t sure of the definition and did not want to misrepresent myself. I was able to explain this later, in a lengthy rant where I used the terms “modern drunkard” and “high-functioning sociopath” and essentially said “This is not going to work– for me.” Kinda brought...
Fun encounter with the fairer sex this morning. Went outside my apartment to the Farmer’s Market that usually serves only to deprive me of parking on Friday night. Browsed a little, then to the java stand. The pretty twenty-something compliments my “Frozen” shirt with a giggle and asks what I’d like. “Well … I’ve been craving a BBC. A big–” [beat, anxiety on her face] “black …” [beat, eyes widen] “… coffee.” She laughs. Funny she knew the acronym– maybe she’s...
All around me are familiar faces– … worn out places … worn out faces. Bright and early for their daily races– … going nowhere … going nowhere. Their tears are filling up their glasses– … no expression. … no expression. Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow– … no tomorrow … no tomorrow. And I find it kind of funny; I find it kind of sad– that the dreams in which I’m dyin’ are the best I’ve ever had....
It’s been a while. How you doin’? It’s been a while longer since I wrote anything of general utility. Most of my spew has been of a peculiar flavor spawned of my bile. Give me a break, friends– the strongest urge to write is to pull in those who ken what you pen. It’s rare for anyone to truly know you. … I’m speaking to a likewise rare audience here. For the majority of humanity, their 12-piece “Age 2+” puzzle...
It’s not easy being drunk all the time; Everyone would do it if it were easy. There’s a wide gap between a “social” drinker and an “alcoholic”. It’s a regrettably coarse span of choices found on personality inventories. Most who do imbibe can honestly choose the first. Some might convince themselves that because they drink to be social, they are social drinkers. Few wish to admit to the latter, which is more a medical diagnosis than a choice or a description of...
My kitchen ceiling flooded yesterday. Not sure how this poesy parody came to mind, but here it is. Once upon a morning drizzly, while I hack-ed, gruff and grizzly, O’er many quaint and curious statements of programmatic lore— While I type-ed, buffers filling, suddenly there came a spilling, As of something gently dripping, dripping on my kitchen floor— “‘Tis rain fallen,” I muttered, “dripping on my kitchen floor— Only this and nothing more.” Ah, distinctly I...
The narrative catalyst that brought about the ultimate physical separation of my wife from myself — when she texted me from Rochester threatening to never bring the children back unless I vacated our rental home — was a story I wrote about a character in a Star Wars role-playing game I’d started playing on the advice of my therapist. To start doing some of my “own” things. Apparently, to her, it resembled too closely our real family, and she took...
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