...A transition to Sobriety...

21 APRIL 2010

Coffee has become bland. The days are spent swallowing this many units of water for every Gatorade. My mouth has turned numb to the want of thirst in this desert, and the offerings provided with the good and noble intentions to quench my un-amused palate. It’s the taste of the sand down the back of my throat. Dry. I think of burning campfires and bringing pots to boil and walking on the sun and so on.

I’ve stumbled in from a run with a sore back. Is it sore from the run or yesterday’s ammo detail or last week’s mission? I’m not sure, but I am very aware of it now, as I nurse on a flavorless coffee. And there’s a slight crick in my neck and a pinch in my shoulder too. I imagine both from wear of my tactical vest and I ignore them as I wash down the day’s last cigarette with nothingness. The last of my aches is in my knee; a constant tenderness I’ve endured for years now. Like my knee, I imagine each pain is one I’ve had following me all along, only now choosing to attack my nerves and thoughts.

I’ve stumbled in from that run and I thought of beer. An Amber Lager, smooth and rich, and having lounged in a metal drum long enough to lose most of its fizz. Then I felt the wave of heat and sweat that follows the rush of exertions, and I thought of cheap watery Lites I’d drink at tailgates, as my brothers and I chased down girls and made pretend our team was worth a damn. This brought me to think about places I’d rather be, which lead to Double Chocolate Stouts in New York and then to Key West, with a Margarita on the rocks, no salt.

And this added thoughts of cocktails: Vodka and Tonic at the Muse; Jameson and Bailey’s at Kelley’s Pub; Whiskey and Water at Riverside; So-Co and Coke at the Sand Bar; and Martinis at the Lounge. Now I’m back to thinking of beers, something from Belgium, an ale, at The Garden in St. Pete.

It’s been months since my last drink in Austin, and it seems the mystery of what my life had been has made the complete transition to sobriety. I am very aware of everything now, especially the pains in my tired body—the reminisce of what had once been a healthy young man. It is an annoyance to think I’ll have to bear this until fall, when my leave comes. But it is an annoyance I must and will permit. I have teased with the idea of throwing together a homemade, ramshackle of a distillery in the spare wall locker. But I hardly suspect I would succeed in my efforts to brew, and further, I doubt, would I manage to hide something so foolish. Oh well, I guess.

- The Exodus