Day 14

You know what? Fuck it. My family

isn’t gonna change, so why should I?

I’m almost two weeks sober and

they still treat me like I’m boozing

into a blackout every night. Well,

if they’re gonna think that anyway,

I might as well earn it.

 

Jesus fucking Christ,

that’s good. The bite, the burn,

the sharp carbonation when I

wash the Jack down with a bottle

of Sam Adams. I will say,

one advantage of this twelve-day break

is all the money I saved not buying

the cheap shit. This isn’t top shelf,

but it’s better than before. Much better.

 

If I don’t finish this tonight—fuck,

who am I kidding, of course this

will be done tonight, but, well,

just in case—I’ll hafta find a place

to hide it. Even when I trash it,

I wouldn’t put my uncle above

digging through my recycling

for proof that, yup, I’m as

worthless as they all thought.

Fucking paranoid asswipe.

That’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight,

this bender is mine, and I’m not sharing.

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