.blessed vices.
are they really (as i am reluctant to acknowledge) an image, carefully marketed and eagerly consumed, an ideal, an excuse? they sure do seem an easy prop, a beer and a cigarette, coffee, bourbon, to boost esteem and soothe angst. the icon lends glory and gloom to the james deans and ethan hawkes and tom waits of every generation, but only on the screen. in the morning, into the kleenex they cough the same yellow phlegm as the rest of us real people.
sobriety has been looming big in my mind ever since i've been trying to be sober. more. it seems like i'm not the only one to wonder when was the last time i didn't have a beer? and is it, maybe, not so cool to drink every night? and does it matter anyway- does it make a difference if i have a beer, if i smoke a joint, or if i don't? does it change the experience i'm having today, does it make it better, more pleasurable, does it numb it, blur it, smear it into the next and ultimately wipe it away?
sometimes, while i'm driving to work or home from the store, i listen to the same cd that i listened to a few months ago, when i was drinking on a daily basis and smoking cigarettes every hour on the hour. i listen to the same cd and i hear something different. it's alarming, actually, like someone has sneakily installed a brand new car stereo with clearer sound and crisper voices, deeper bass. i turn up the volume and turn it back down, but the music sounds vivid either way.
this car-stereo fiddling makes me wonder if something in my mind has been changed from all of this abstinence. could it be that a cup of tea instead of bourbon makes for mental clarity? and is this knowledge old news to sober america and an embarrassingly stale revelation for me?
my friend tonia quit smoking cigarettes last june. she says she didn't feel all that hot, and the drinking that she used to do every day didn't feel all that fun anymore. and tonia-- who's dorm room once smelled like the collective ash tray of ten of our friends, who's jacket pocket was never without the bulge of a pack of camel lights, who would step outside with you for seven minutes no matter the weather-- tonia joined a gym.
tonia shares my reluctance to hang up her old habits once and for all.
"i'm 23," she says. "how old am i? i'm too old to be sitting at home drinking tea and reading a book."
but her voice sounds calmer, warmer, and more even-paced than the last time we spoke two years ago. over a cigarette.
sobriety has been looming big in my mind ever since i've been trying to be sober. more. it seems like i'm not the only one to wonder when was the last time i didn't have a beer? and is it, maybe, not so cool to drink every night? and does it matter anyway- does it make a difference if i have a beer, if i smoke a joint, or if i don't? does it change the experience i'm having today, does it make it better, more pleasurable, does it numb it, blur it, smear it into the next and ultimately wipe it away?
sometimes, while i'm driving to work or home from the store, i listen to the same cd that i listened to a few months ago, when i was drinking on a daily basis and smoking cigarettes every hour on the hour. i listen to the same cd and i hear something different. it's alarming, actually, like someone has sneakily installed a brand new car stereo with clearer sound and crisper voices, deeper bass. i turn up the volume and turn it back down, but the music sounds vivid either way.
this car-stereo fiddling makes me wonder if something in my mind has been changed from all of this abstinence. could it be that a cup of tea instead of bourbon makes for mental clarity? and is this knowledge old news to sober america and an embarrassingly stale revelation for me?
my friend tonia quit smoking cigarettes last june. she says she didn't feel all that hot, and the drinking that she used to do every day didn't feel all that fun anymore. and tonia-- who's dorm room once smelled like the collective ash tray of ten of our friends, who's jacket pocket was never without the bulge of a pack of camel lights, who would step outside with you for seven minutes no matter the weather-- tonia joined a gym.
tonia shares my reluctance to hang up her old habits once and for all.
"i'm 23," she says. "how old am i? i'm too old to be sitting at home drinking tea and reading a book."
but her voice sounds calmer, warmer, and more even-paced than the last time we spoke two years ago. over a cigarette.
posted by .i'll never tell. at 12:16 PM
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