In the last year or so of my drinking there was hardly a time when there wasn’t some kind of mixology going on in my car. In the early days it would be a beer, straight up in the cup holder on the way to camp. Or when we were fishing there would be a beer open some place but somehow I graduated.
The Famous Coffee Cup
On weekends or fishing trips, vacations where 24 hour drinking was not frowned upon and widely participated in, there was some sort of innocuous looking drinking vessel. One of my friends used a “sippy cup” and others reused fast food soft drink cups, that deteriorated into mushy wax coated messes after a couple days. But at some point the weekends, special occasions and vacation calamity turned into real life.
At The End
I was always carrying a cheap vodka bottle in the back of my car, wrapped up into a plastic grocery bag often with a towel around it or in a canvas grocery bag so people wouldn’t see it easily if they looked into the back of my car. People like professional friends or “police” if they had pulled me over, which thank God didn’t happen. I would carefully watch the level of that bottle in order to make sure I “had what I needed.” Had what I needed until I could get to the store without anyone with me to know how much booze I would buy.
Alcohol Doesn’t Freeze
At least it didn’t for me and where I live it can be sub zero and even 30 below at night in January. Damn cold, even if you are vodka. Last winter, I was up to camp and that day I left, I knew there was going to be no way I could sneak anything out of camp for the morning “chills.” I would have to resort to my stash in my car. So I made a cup of tea and put it into a travel mug as I watched myself shake to pour it into the mug, I was hoping no one was watching. I climbed into my car and proceeded down the wintry road, wondering where I could pull over and add a dash of courage to calm my nerves. We had high snow banks so this was to be tricky. I did find a store and under cloak and dagger, I managed to quickly unwrap the stash, pour it into my tea and return the bottle to the bag and the travel mug to the cup holder without incident. I was never sure if the shaking was from my withdrawals or from the stress of “getting caught” dumping several ounces of vodka into a travel mug parked in my car on the side of the road. It probably was some of both but the feeling of relief I had as I brought the travel mug to my lips and downed my first “fix” of the day of now ICED TEA – what was hot was now freezing cold with ice floating in it from the cold vodka I had dumped into it.
THAT was Insanity
I remember hearing in meetings the term “insanity” thrown around like it was nothing. To me, insanity meant a person with urine stained pants, shouting out obscenities at innocent bystanders or the like. It certainly wouldn’t be someone like me, employed, running a thousand miles an hour, making things happen. But was I? I was doing so many things like mixing booze in coffee, tea, diet pepsi from a fast food joint, from sunrise to sunset and I thought I had it all figured out. And people now haven’t come up with anything earth shattering to mention that they knew I was showing up to meetings, engagements, etc. with a buzz on. Actually that buzz was a leftover shakefest that needed to be dealt with along with some sort of “minty finish.”
Definitions Change as Time Rolls On
I mentioned what I thought insanity was above. But now looking back at it I can think of so many deceptive moves that my disease did for me that has made me redefine insane and insanity. Sure I didn’t walk down the street and point at the sky and talk to it or randomly yell at people. But I smuggled booze in tote bags, hid them behind bookcases in my bedroom at camp so I could add some of my medicine to something that looked nonalcoholic when I made the excuse to go make my bed. Meanwhile stressing out at the possibility that someone may find my stash or knock over my tote bag.
Hell no, that isn’t insane…