September 8, 2016

I’m not sure what I expect to feel in the wake of failure. It’s as if I really believe it will be different this time around. I know that it’s a lie. But I also know how excited I was on the drive home Monday night, September 5. It was labor day and I had just finished working at two skilled nursing facilities while also being on call for Stratuswave. I felt utterly spent, but not angry or stressed. Nothing bad happened. And I think that’s part of how I rationalized the decision to go to CVS and get a pint of whiskey and a pint of vodka. I had just been to the same CVS earlier in the day to purchase two energy drinks. I believe I reasoned that if I went ahead and indulged after I’d “earned it” and before I “needed it,” perhaps I’d be able to reign it in. I drank the two pints, woke up about 7 pm Tuesday, and purchased a pint of Bullet and a pint of some random stout. I completely wasted, and was wasted, both Tuesday and Wednesday. I still feel sick. And disgusted. I wonder if vacation will somehow be slightly less if I’m only mostly instead of fully present. I can’t understand how I can keep forgetting my days are a finite resource and squander them and, most likely, shorten their number simultaneously. I want to rewind. I want to wake up Tuesday morning grateful that I remained steadfast. I feel fucking pathetic.