I think the vice’s popularity has something to do with its relative, and mostly perceived, safeness compared to other forms of depravity. Hard drugs can kill you in a second. Weed is still illegal in most states and you probably have to meet up with some creepy burnout or other scary fellow to get it. Our American puritanical conscious can still creep in and make too much sex seem scary (plus, Chlamydia). Masturbation will make you go blind (but it’s mostly depressing).
Obviously, drinking is dangerous too. But it is dangerous in a way that kills you over time, when you are old and unsexy anyway, so what is the point in living? Sure, we all know of someone who died from the consumption, but it is not a prolific enough problem to scare us away from being that guy. The guy who can drink.
Despite this seemingly healthy sense of perspective on the subject, I am fairly certain I have a drinking problem.
- At my last three places of employment, I have had the ability to drink on the job at least semi-regularly. At all three places, I had at least one drink before noon during my tenure. The earliest drink occurred at 10 am. That old adage about the company you keep is coming to mind.
- I write better when I have had three glasses of bourbon.
- I can function well while drunk and alcohol removes the barriers set in place by my sometimes-crippling social anxiety. I feel better in large groups when I am intoxicated.
- I still play beer pong even though I graduated college over a year ago.
- I am emotionally scarred by childhood events that were out of my control.
- I have vomited in my best friend’s front yard at three different homes.
- I hate the way being wasted feels but I continue to push myself to that point anyway on some occasions.
- More often than not, I am drinking to forget.
- On other occasions, I am trying to dull the pain.
- This never works, but I keep trying anyway.