Confessions of an Alchy on the True Meaning of Love
You know that expression, "Never put off till tomorrow what you can accomplish today?" Well, I equally live yet regret that expression everyday. The only thing I CAN'T put of till tomorrow is another tall glass of Maker's Mark on the rocks. It's the only comfort, however small and fleeting, that I have in this world, which by the way is filled to the brim with dickheads and morons. Yep, as long as my heart keeps beating, I will perpetually try to bury whatever shred of soul I used to possess by drowning my never ending sorrows in the one thing I know that keeps my Ceretonin flowin'.
My girlfriend at the moment, by no small coincidence, is a Goddess of the booze... a bartender... slinging drinks night after night for a living. But as far as girlfriends go, she's nothing to write home about. To say she takes me for granted, is like saying Tiger Woods is a faithful husband and knows how to play some game called 'golf'. She strings me along like a helpless fish snatched from a life of contentment just a few feet below the water's surface. It burns, and I ache, but still for some unknown reason I tolerate it out of an inexplicable obsession that involves vanity, stupidity, and the desire not to die alone in a world filled with lonely people.
The only way out of this is to strip it all away: Burn the bridges, and never look back. Love is the cancer that eats, burns, and corrodes the core of what was fresh, new, and exciting about life. Love is an omnibus fire that can never be satisfied, that thrives on the souls of the weak and unrepentant. It is a pain that we must endure, so that we may pass it on to future generations... an unyielding, yet everlasting misery.