Thursday, July 14, 2011

Sea change. That’s the phrase I wanted for our Tuesday conversation, but was unable to conjure until yesterday evening, while I was driving back home in a vodka-infused haze. Not to worry, though. I kept it in the lane, with only 1.6 drinks down the gullet and, let’s be honest here, the fact that Vodka Redbulls are essentially speedballs certainly didn’t hurt matters at all. The other thing to note, as I once explained to somebody during happy hour, is that I’m normally so neurotic that a buzz merely serves to normalize me somewhat.

There were some dark moments yesterday evening, times when I was dangerously close to veering back to my old self. It all started well enough, until the vibe dropped for me and for a few brief instances I considered bailing. I could taste it, too–the freedom, the relief of disengaging. But then I excused myself, looked in the mirror, and said, “I’ve got to do this.” I was probably a few steps short of slapping myself in the face.

A ridiculous scene, to be sure, but when I was in the thick of it, it felt like I was at a crossroads of cosmic importance, a grand test of will. It was, in a way, because shortly after I mumbled that vow to myself, I made my choice, steeled myself, and finished the night in fine style. And sociability, once vestigial, suddenly became imperative.