A Drunkard's Diary (Part 3): Beer Tastes Better When You Have a Beard

I should’ve recognized I was developing some pretty bad drinking habits during my first few months back home. I had no military affiliation during this time and was in my first actual semester of college. And I was drinking like a fish. Most days, I’d get out of class and on the way home I stopped by a coffee shop to get a vanilla latte. As soon as I got home, I was pouring a good bit of Kahlua into that latte. After the latte, I usually took a nap (I feel like coffee and naps go together much better than they get credit for). But almost as soon as I woke up from the nap, I was drinking a beer and then after a couple beers, I usually switched to liquor.

Still, I didn’t feel I had a problem. For starters, I was recently separated from the Air Force and if there’s any cause for a months-long celebration, it’s getting out of the military. Even if it could be said I was drinking more than I should’ve been, my grades in school were good and it’s not alcoholism until it affects your grades. Plus, I was still taking a night or two off every week, so I knew I was still in control of my drinking. I was just having a good time with it and why let a good time end prematurely?

Before I knew it, six months of my life had gone by in a drunken blur. I’m not gonna lie, I had a great time. For six months I was growing out a glorious beard, doing great in my classes despite missing quite a few days of class (the fact it was all freshman level classes probably helped that), and was pretty much able to drink and play video games to my heart’s content. However, it was time to get a little more serious about my life and bring back some discipline into my routine. So I joined the Air Force Reserves. 

A Drunkard’s Diary (Part 2.5): Before I Go Any Further…

I’m not sure how long I’ll be doing this “Drunkard’s Diary” thing/series for, but I want to ensure anyone who reads it that this isn’t some weird cry for help. I’ve just been doing a good bit of thinking lately and the amount of drinking I’ve been doing over the years is something that definitely sticks out when looking back. When I compare where I am to where I wanted to be by this point in my life, I notice a common denominator in much of my wasted opportunity and that common denominator of course has been being drunk.

I’m sure if I went to a “professional,” they’d say I’m an alcoholic and recommend treatment. But by their guidelines, a whole lot of people I know (most of whom have their shit together much better than I) qualify as an alcoholic. However, I don’t feel like I’m quite at the alcoholic level (for reasons I’ll try to get into another post). Yet. Nonetheless, my drinking has been a problem and one I’ve been turning a blind eye to for all too long.

I should have my master’s degree by now, but I don’t even have my bachelor’s. I should’ve done a whole lot of more hiking than I have, especially when I consider how much talking about it I do. I should be a blue belt in Brazilian jiu jitsu (not that the belt should matter to me and I likely wouldn’t be a good blue belt anyways, but showing up matters and I’ve certainly spent more nights drunk than at jiu jitsu over the past few years). But instead of any of that, I decided it would be easier to just stay at home and drink. And that’s a whole lot of time I’ll never get back.

 I’m not going to lie, I love drinking. I especially love beer and living somewhere with a great micro-brew scene makes it all the better. But I’m tired of feeling like I’m watching my life pass me by. So I’m going to take a break from drinking for an undetermined (but longer than just a month like before) amount of time. And hopefully, when I decide to partake again, I’m much more mature and wise in how much and how often I consume. In the meantime, these blog entries are nothing more than me looking back and exploring the drunken time in my life leading up until now.

A Drunkard's Diary (Part 2): New Mexico, New Me

I loved living in England, more than I could ever possibly convey with words. If it was up to me, the Air Force could’ve left me there for the rest of my life and I’d die happy. Unfortunately, despite my best effort, the Air Force had other plans for me and sent me to Alamogordo, New Mexico – a place I hated so much I ultimately ended up separating from active duty rather than risk having to be there for an unknown number of years. It was there, in a small one bedroom apartment that actually cost me a little more than I could afford, that I learned how to properly drink on work nights. 

It took me a couple of bad work day hangovers to get my technique down, but by the time I left Holloman AFB for the comfort of home, I was fully knowledgeable in being a functional alcoholic. The trick was to start drinking as soon as I got home from work, so that I could be sure I’d be falling asleep with that comfortable drunkenness that helped me forget how much I hated my current circumstance in life. Just as important as being sure to start drinking as soon as possible was to have a set time I stopped drinking (about nine p.m. those days) so I could be sure I had plenty of time to recover. I’d also started getting into wine at this point in my life and by continually buying new wines to try out, I was able to tell myself I was being a connoisseur and not on a road to alcoholism. 

Now I didn’t drink every night and I didn’t always drink to get drunk, but as my short time there dragged on my sober nights became continuously rarer. In addition to prepping myself for being a world class wine-taster, I made sure I always had an excuse to drink: I was either depressed about living in New Mexico, depressed about a girl, or celebrating my eventual separation from the military. And to me, this was good; alcoholics drink just to be drunk, but I had actual reasons for drinking. 

While I certainly didn’t consider myself an alcoholic by any means back in those days, I did have the feeling I was well on the way to becoming one if I didn’t change my ways. Fortunately, I knew my days left in Alamogordo were numbered and there was a certain sense of relief for me in not only would I be leaving there, but I’d be able to get back to normal drinking habits as soon as I was back home in Alaska.

A Drunkard's Diary (Part 1): The First Time I Quit Drinking

I was 25 the first time I swore off drinking for good. I’m not sure of the exact date, but I know it was a Saturday. I was living in the dorms at RAF Lakenheath and I’d made plans with a few friends to go to the zoo that day. However, I planned poorly the night before and decided to get absolutely shit-faced with other friends in the dorms. I woke up that morning wondering if maybe I couldn’t just die instead of get out of bed. But, being I had a crush on one of the friends I was to go to the zoo with, I forced myself through the motions of being human and set about the day. Unfortunately, about 30 minutes into our drive, we hit a traffic jam that looked to go for miles and my stomach decided just then to deal with the complications of too much alcohol. So we turned around to get back to base ASAP and the day pretty much ended up a complete waste for me.

I was pissed at myself for screwing up what not only would’ve been a day hanging out with a girl I had a crush on, but also possible extra credit for an anthropology class I was taking at the time. And I vowed to myself to quit drinking so something like that could never happen again. To ensure myself of this, gave away a mostly full bottle of Grey Goose I had as well as half a case of Red Bull to someone else in the dorms later that day. Because nothing says “I’m serious about quitting” like giving away all you have of the offending habit.

I’m not sure if it was the next weekend or the weekend after that, but it didn’t take me long before I was back at the club on base making sure my liver was being put to work. Still, in retrospect, I did alright back then as far as drinking in moderation. I might have a beer or two when out with friends on a work night, but I made sure I kept it at that; the last thing I wanted was to be hungover at work. And when it came to my weekends, after the afore mentioned incident, I was pretty good at making sure to not drink on weekends I had other plans and to plan ahead for weekends I knew I’d be out with friends. It wasn’t until I got to my next assignment at Holloman AFB that things began to slowly change.