Am I an alcoholic?
Some might say that if I have to ask myself this question, I probably already know the answer.
I sit here writing this with a margarita close by and a small child watching my every move, sipping on her juice box. She’s got dark curly hair framing her face…
It hits around 1am and the bar is heaving, as per. I wriggle through the masses, stacks of glasses wedged under my left arm, balanced precariously, waiting to tumble over from a stray elbow or a wayward backhand.
Kez stands behind the bar, chatting to a woman whose face I can’t see. Classic Kez. He…
Dear Alcohol,
I’ve been thinking a lot about our relationship lately. I’m not very happy, and no -- it’s not me; it’s you.
Most of the time, I am an interesting, composed young adult. But all it takes is a small dose of you, and my hidden feelings are aired out for display. I then…