A drink? Why not!

I have one, two, three, four, FIVE more days to load up before my life becomes intransitive.

This is DAY FIVE--and without trying I have been a busy bee.

One creamy dreamy latte, one fatty cheese danish.

Two bites of pizza.

Three course lunch of fries, veggie burger, black and white malt with plenty of "fuck that shit" with girlfriend Lisa.

Four bites of chocolate.

Five slices of cucumber with a few fingers of gin, a little tonic and a lot of Bobby!

This photo Bobby took tonight gave me a flashback to some twelve years ago and my first icy sip of a martini. Nothing better than longing for a love about to leave.


Once upon a time there was a divorcé who brought back the martini. I mean, fully brought back the martini. Vodka, shaken not stirred, three olives please. I'm sorry, I meant five olives -- I haven't had dinner yet.


I think it was 1995 or 1996, the year I lost my marriage and found the martini. Back of the bar, saltine crackers in a basket, slice of Gouda. Ahh, Adler's Museum (aka Specs Bar) tucked back in the alley off off Columbus Avenue's flash of tits and Italians. Small crystal glasses, sharp green picholine olives, and the burn and blur of my third shaker full. This was the year of freedom, no strings, and nothing left behind.


Why the trip down memory lane? Why should you join me? Because this intransitive fast is not about curtailing thirst or hunger. More truthfully, it is about my thirst for knowledge, a ravenous hunger to know why the moment the icy, crispy, salty martini hits my lips I'm transported back to the dirty tables of Adler's Museum, to foggy nights where my heart seethed with hurt and no amount of Absolute "knowledge" was going to make it go away. It is about my wondering why it is my body goes one way and my mind can turn the other way and walk out the door. And it's me contemplating that it's very odd that a habit can sneak in and nestle itself up against your most vulnerable parts.


This is not a confession to "Bill." It is a curiosity about why I love the sound of ice bouncing off the rims of highball glasses, why it's easier to kiss someone when my belly is filled with olives and why when I stop the drinking, or quit the sugar or the fucking dirty mouth, that nothing really changes. Well, except for my awareness. And maybe that's enough. This isn't a diet or a cleanse or a way to make myself a better person. I'm discovering that better already is.


So if you're here to find out how to stop drinking, please find your guidance with professional help.


If you're interested in the nooks and crannies of stoping and starting, then off we go. In five more days.