You might be surprised to learn that the loft my husband and I call home has a bar directly below it.
The entrance to the bar – which I will call Journey’s End – would be easy to miss except for a small lighted sign with the bar name and a martini glass that hangs above the inconspicuous front door like a homing device for drunkards.
This Thanksgiving, I plan on lolling about in an acid-induced stupor. It will be a direct result of ingesting an abundance of turkey and the amino acid tryptophan – but it will be a stupor nonetheless.
When I was a kid, I remember watching the movie Sybil. It scared the crap out of me. First of all it was shocking to see The Flying Nun – aka America’s Sweetheart, Sally Field – playing an extremely disturbed women with split personalities. But mostly, it was the abject terror I felt at the idea of losing track of time, of having another personality inside of me launch a hostile takeover of my brain.
Once upon a time there was a little princess who lived in a pink castle in the shadow of a great snowy mountain. There was a scary monster that dwelled inside this mountain, but the little princess knew that she was safe because it was surrounded by a magical kingdom where nothing bad ever happened.
Apparently by day five of sobriety, alcohol is officially undetectable in your urine. I kept looking for it at the bottom of the toilet bowl but frankly all I saw was pee on day one, and all I can see is pee on day five. But my pee does look healthier. Clearer, less concentrated. I guess you could say that my piss looks a little less pissed off.
Let’s get one thing clear right away…this is not a advice dispensing blog – because who am I to give advice? I’m just getting started here. I’ll leave the advice giving to those who have been sober for oh… I don’t know – maybe at least a month? Otherwise, it’d be like asking Donald Trump for hairstyling tips or Tiger Woods for relationship advice.
My name is Anna, and I can be sanity-challenged at times. My nickname growing up was Anna Banana, but in case you were wondering, my last name isn’t actually Bananas. It has been changed to protect the innocent Bananas family, who are often sanity-challenged as well, but didn’t sign up to be outed in this blog.