Apartment 440 - Falling Off the Wagon

Sobriety is shit.

72 hours in
and I'm giving

serious thought to

drinking the Listerine.

The bitch of it is it's citrus flavored.

I can't even rinse with that toxic concoction, let alone swallow it;
but I'm running out of options.

I finished off my other MacGyver drinks-
the Nyquil was the first to go,
followed quickly by my daughter's Dimetapp

   (which was the cherry kind,

      not the refreshing grape-flavored one)
and a damn bottle of Wal-fed
that gave me a wicked bout of indigestion.

My kingdom for a belt of whiskey.
Maybe a snifter of rum...

Anything would do because
I've broken out in cold sweats,
with the wind-up toy chattering teeth
and shakes severe enough that I can't hold my dick to piss...

You know you're bottoming out
when you wax nostalgic
for the drunken days
when soiling yourself was justifiable
due to your general state of disarray.

That sells it, I'm pissing in the shower.
It's all fair game in there.

I'm the shit that adheres to the bottom of the barrel...
pissing in the shower with my shoes on,
my pants removed as a cautionary measure.

Not that my life can get worse;

nothing trumps waking up miserable,
  sore,
    jobless,
      alone,
        queasy,
          woozy and
            drooling uncontrollably...

besides lacking booze to blame it on.