- 11:12 AM,
Thursday, June 20th, 2019:
- This is a strange
entry because I feel compelled to write it although
I'm not sure it applies to me. I'm certain I needed to
take a break, but people associate so much with
admitting that - it muddies the water.
- So a few days ago
I decided to stop drinking for about a month
(before France). The reason? My tolerance is so high
now. A couple drinks does nothing to me. I only
drink at the end of the day as it signals I'm done
with my responsibilities. Of course I've noticed that
since "Fastest Delorean" started it is indeed
EVERY day... but since it's never kept me from
those responsibilities, I've never thought much about
it. However over the past several months I've noticed
I can drink 5-6 ounces of WHISKEY and barely feel
- Even stranger? No
hangover the next day. Maybe a little achy or creaky
but totally normal for my age. And mind you, if I
didn't feel after what amounts to FOUR SHOTS? I
made another drink. Another drink with another 2-3
ounces. If it takes 9 ounces (6 shots) to get a buzz?
You're in bad shape no matter how well you meet your
responsibilities, no matter how well you're
functioning. That's scary.
- So here's the
problem with writing this: I hate assholes who want so
badly to be dramatic they adopt some "ism". It's
offensive to people actually struggling and especially
since "The Journey" is public it almost elicits an eye
roll. I have nothing actually negative to report here
other than the amount. Never affected my work or my
production-level, I've never been close to a DUI, it's
never caused me to slip my dick into someone by
accident. I've never hit my kids, my wife... In fact
it has indeed allowed me to juggle IMMENSELY stressful
shit all day and hit the RELAX button so I can be
goofy dad with the kids. So this is all strange to
write and/or admit...
- ...but Talya's
concern makes it a no-brainer. She internalizes it as
if I'm somehow stressed about HER. Every husband
reading this has to be shaking his head right now -
LOL. Isn't that so couplehood? Every time you're ever
annoyed or stressed they think it's because of them?
She just equates any drinking with an "escape" as
if it's a sign I'm secretly unhappy and man - this is
SO NOT THAT. And I have no way to prove it
other than just stopping. Ya know? Like I can
unequivocally say I have never been happier or even
DREAMED I could be this happy with my home life.
All I want to do is spend time with my family.
Just look at The Journey! No, for me, a drink just
means "ALRIGHT! CAN'T WORK NOW!
I GET TO WATCH SILLY MOVIES AND PLAY GAMES!"
- But it's too much.
Although three days in and I really feel no
different. I do find I have some anxiety about
the end of the day approaching and having no good way
to unwind (weed just doesn't work the same way for
me)... but I have no actual withdrawal symptoms.
It's not like quitting coffee. Oh fuck me that's
something I would have trouble doing since
- And to boot, we're
absolutely going to drink in France next month. But
hopefully 1 or 2 does the job and a month of
abstinence can truly reset that clock.
- I just reread
this and it does indeed sound like a raging alcoholic
making excuses. LMAO. Oh well. This site is about
documenting real shit and maybe some day I'll look
back on this entry and go "yup, you knew it then". But
today I absolutely think I'm just stopping because my
tolerance was too high and I don't want to
destroy my insides. And I share this because that's
what I do. Man, what the fuck is the video for this
entry? Ooh I know.
- So my longtime
friend Marshall is moving out of LA after 20 years and
we had a bit of a get together. "Drinks and Minigolf"
nights are always my favorite because I don't have to
run a tournament, I don't have to worry about kids...
it's the only time the backyard really feels FUN. And
this was awesome as we played (and drank) for like 6
hours dude. This was also the moment I realized
something was off with me...
- ...the following
morning, Marshall and Paddy had to come pick up their
cars as they ubered home. Marshall threw up multiple
times and Paddy was just WRECKED. Me? Fine. I mean,
the sun seemed a little too bright, but I certainly
didn't puke and I went about my day like always. My
father was in town and it was a great day. For a
moment I was even proud of that fact... but then I
realized I probably had more than these two... why was
I OK? Could it be a couple YEARS of conditioning my
body to the abuse? Fuck, me. It suddenly didn't
seem cool to me that I was OK. The guys that were on
the floor praying to the porcelain God were actually
functioning properly - I was on the road to liver
- So I guess
that means I'm longing for the days of violent
vomitting after too many drinks? HA. Who knows. It's
all just another chapter in the Journey.