It was only this morning, while I was in the shower, that I told myself I’d come home, no beer and maybe hit the gym. Could hardly make it in the door, home again, before I was tossing one back.
On the way in, I stopped by the taco stand and ordered two beef and bean. Tried the grilled cheese too. Who knew the little taco stand served grilled cheese. On sourdough, for God’s sake. The tacos were fine. The sandwich ended up a physical manifestation of the rest of the day. Another disappointment.
By the time the bottle was half drained, I was spooning out the cat’s dinner from the can to his plate. The filthy bastard had slept all day.
There is plenty of beer in the box. Only no tequila in the cupboard. Sadly, no young lady either. I guess I could get into that shit vodka left over from new years. Guess I could also throw a bone to the old married soccer mom that’s always giving me the hungry eye. But I really don’t want to go there. At least not without the tequila.
Spent too many hours at work today. Too many days. Too many years.
The music plays. The sky is clear from the easy breeze blowing through my back yard. In my shorts, flip flaps and undershirt. I’ll be alright. Just wondering where my young lady is. Who will she be. And when.
God damn that empty cupboard. My empty glass makes it a little tougher getting along with no one to love. No one to be loved by. Shit vodka, here I come.
Drink. Drink. Drink. Then turn out the light. Let the music play. Let it trick me into the next dream. Won’t worry about wishing I’d done a better job. Won’t worry about nothing left to hold on to but a halfhearted hope that I grip, white knuckled. Won’t worry about no more chances. No more God.
Just drink. And tomorrow, while I shower, instead of making promises, it’ll be enough to just keep the soap from my eyes.