Sobriety day zero again

This story ends where it starts.

I woke up on Red’s couch, not alone, not dressed, had some coffee, then some rum, one roommate likes me more (which I enjoyed), the other a lot less (which I enjoyed more), and I bemoaned what a scoundrel I am.

I’m back. Alastair is back.

I talked to Olivia at the party because someone said she was stuck up. I love mocking pretentious people so I struck up a conversation while waiting for a drink. She wasn’t the least bit obnoxious, she was outgoing, enthusiastic, and funny.

I didn’t plan on charming her, I just enjoyed the conversation. I planned on drinking responsibly and I did because her and I wound up at a secluded table most of the night.

I kept her around Red’s as long as I could like a trophy and a shield. Alastair is back and he still loves bubbles.

Once she leaves the bubble pops and I start over thinking, over feeling.

Its all a performance. I relish in terrible behavior and the second there’s no one new around to see it I feel like shit. The first two hours of the day were great because I got to be the guy I wish everyone thought I was. Then I have to settle into being the guy I think I am.

I feel like I’m tricking people into thinking I’m cool, if it doesn’t work I feel gross and if it does I feel worse.

I hadn’t been back to the apartment since Simone moved out. I actually got a text from her while I was a the party saying she was done moving her stuff. I’d been dreading being alone there. Seducing someone when you’ve been telling yourself you have feelings for someone else feels pretty lonely.

Filled with dread, and loneliness, I indulged the sadder devils of my nature. Not drinking, I was already bored of that.

I called Olivia, got her to meet me at Chinook and took her back the apartment.

I knew that seeing it for the first time in character for her would be easier on me than seeing it alone.

And I felt like seducing a girl in a war torn apartment with no bed would sound good on my scoundrel’s resume.

Who is this all for though? Not me, I’m about as impressed with myself as Red’s furious roomie.

I still have the imaginary running eulogy in my head. I’m just living stories I want told at my funeral.

So okay I got that. but I’m still alive and have to see that I’m doing it at the expense of my feelings and others and there’s a new girl who gets to go the Alastair’s sinking ship ride, hurray.

When the fuck did I become incapable of being alone? was it that for 5 years I was only ever as alone as I wanted to be? Why am I so absorbed in novel people, am I just telling the beginning – the good part- of my character over and over again?

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Singer/songwriter, jerk.

Posted in sobriety
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