Answer #6 - In Vodka Veritas

.. some kind of madness there in your coffee cup
why do you drink it up - and swallow sorrow down til you drown?

No movement on the points scale yesterday. Though I'm taking 1 point for all of the horribly envious thoughts I'm currently harboring for anyone who did make any sort of headway in the music business yesterday.

Is this the reason I insisted on a 4-martini night? (I think it was 4). Let's call it 4. Anyway, is this the reason I insisted on a 4-martini night? Envy? Jealousy? Jealousy and Envy?

I'm taking another point just for typing that sentence.

But more importantly, why, why do I always insist on deep, meaningful, heartfelt conversations when I hit Martini #2, causing me to dive, headlong, into the bottom of Martini #4?

Because Vodka is a horrible truth serum. A deadly potato evil, conceived of by some evil guy somewhere in the frozen yonder, meant to induce slobbery confessions and slobberier professions - followed by (and this is where the REAL evil comes in) an incessant replay of the previous evening's conversations, accompanied by searing headache and gut-wrenching embarrassment.

You can only hope that whomever you delivered the slobbery confessions or professions to was also under the evil spell of the evil elixir of slobberiness, and doesn't remember how much you claimed to love them, or your admission that you may or may not have slept with their ex-husband at some point or another in the distant past.

And then, the WORST of it is that you KNOW in your soul that the only thing that will make you feel REMOTELY human is a Bloody Mary. But you don't have any tomato juice. Or celery. And the thought of driving to the store to get these things is out of the question, because, well, chances are you'd probably blow at least a .08. Don't drink and drive. Especially the next day. That's my motto. So then you have to opt for Alka Seltzer and chocolate chip cookies. And that's just wrong.

Evil. Two points for being delusional and wasting a whole day wallowing in misery and cookies. I'm supposed to be a songwriter, not Charles Bukowski. Don't get me wrong - there are alot of drunken songwriters, too. I mean, I'm in good company, I suppose. Still. I haven't written a song in maybe 3 months... so...

No more vodka. I swear. I mostly swear. Right after I get someone to drive me to the store.