Excuse me everybody, I’d like to make an announcement.
The last three days I’ve been shadow boxing the nastiest peak of anxiousness I’ve dealt with in years. For me -besides crushing self-doubt and social phobia- anxiety manifests in physical shortness of breath. Like a heavy, wet blanket wrapped tightly around my lungs, I am a looney tunes character, gasping and scraping for breath while the air is squeezed from my lungs by a giant boa constrictor.
It makes me sad, irritable, irrational, unapproachable, batshit crazy.
The point is not yet made, so allow me: I want no crutch in this duel between my anxiety and reality. I want nothing more than congratulate myself for beheading the beast without dutch courage- to see it dissolve, peeling away from me, uncoiling while my lungs fill with liters of fresh, glorious oxygen.
You see, boozing takes the edge off a little. It’s the buffer that makes me care a little less that I’ve got this emotional drama going on underneath. Which is great, until you realize you’ve had the same problem for years and it is getting pretty dull, ACTUALLY.
So, the last drinks have been served.
It is time to wake up tomorrow and start the slow process of digesting my unpalatable inhibitions- sans alcoholic veil.
Hello everybody- I’m hanging up my bottle opener and signing in.