Two years ago, I was still removing storm debris from my yard, and I will be doing it next year, too. I started working right after lunch, and took a six pack with me. The heat was enough to make me sweat as I worked, and used the chainsaw, and then started drinking once I was done with the Many Toothed Death Machine.
I’ve seen men who have used chainsaws all their lives make mistakes that cost them blood, skin, clothes, and in one case, part of a shin. I’ve never been drunk enough to pick up a chainsaw while I was drinking. Or jump off a dock and cannon ball an eleven-foot-long alligator.
The six pack was gone in due order, the third debris pile grew larger and larger, and after the sixth beer, I lay in my garden wagon, yes, it’s pretty big, and took a nap in the woods. The sun was shining brightly, and wind was blowing gently, and I dozed off, my legs dangling out of the back of the garden wagon.
I awoke with the sun shifted hard to the west, my back hurting, and one of my feet asleep. The beer was gone, and I had to pee. But I remember at that moment wondering why I drank the way I did. I brushed the question off and kept working.
The issue danced around in my head. I was only drinking a six pack a week, one day dedicated to self-anesthetizing, and that was all. But it was costing me money, and it was costing me the down time that I couldn’t write, or drive, or get on social media. Now, social media isn’t necessary, or particularly useful most of the time, but like chainsaws, social media is not something you should do while drinking.
A woman I knew many years ago contacted me and wanted to get together again, but the next day she sent me a message saying she had been drunk and didn’t want to mess up her marriage. I think it was already messed up, but was happy to see her pull out of a dive.
Drinking, like chainsaws, can precipitate disasters both large and small. I have to use a chainsaw, and an axe, and a couple of other tools in debris removal. I made sure what I was doing that was truly dangerous was done before the first bottle was open. Staggered a bit, feeling no pain, I put my tools away as I ought to, cleaned the sawdust and dirt off the saw, sharpened the axe, and took a long hot shower. Day done.
But I realized I was working around the alcohol. I was scheduling around it. I was planning what I did around six bottles of 9.5% beer when I might have gotten in another hour or so.
This seems small, a tiny thing, unlike people who wreck cars and sleep with people they know better than to sleep with, for whatever reason that turns out to be a bad thing. At the same time, at this stage of my life, time is running ever faster.
So Sunday with be my 300th day of no drinking.
Take Care,
Mike
