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.