The funny thing about drinking alone is that it's quite unsatisfying. A good portion of the time you're sitting alone and consuming this foul devil's piss you wonder why you're doing it. Now when you get drunk at a party it's different, maybe you expect to take off all your clothes and run around screaming "I am the Messiah!" or maybe you plan to get laid by the short girl drinking Southern Comfort in the kitchen. You may vomit instead, you may pass out in the bathroom while people urinate in imperfect arcs over your drooling head. But you can chalk them all up as the sweet memories of your social youth. You can exchange stories with your companions about your drunken debauchery and everyone loves it. Your intoxicated antics are fantastic.

But drinking alone...that's another universe. A party is a showcase of exhibitionism and entertainment. Drinking alone is time for angry, sad, or confused quiet reflection. Or at least it begins quiet. You might get violently depressed, overturning your desk out of frustration. When you drink alone you don't swap stories the next day.

"So I drank a whole bottle of Jaeger last night sitting in front of a computer desperately hoping for some form of human connection last night. Boy, did I feel like smashing my car into a fucking tree."

It's just not something you say.

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