Tag Archives: beer

An open letter to anyone who’s ever bought me a drink.

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Hey man, that was great, thanks for picking up that round. What a killer time we had.

Unfortunately, after you bailed because you had to be up early the next day, I stayed at the bar and drank with those couple of people we met there. Then, when they left, I drank until the bar closed. Alone. Then I got in the car and drove home – quite obviously something I shouldn’t have done – and when I got home, I checked to see what we had around the house to drink.

I’m embarrassed to admit how many times this little scenario has played out in my lifetime. How many times I’ve woken up in the morning not being able to remember how I got home or who I insulted/offended beforehand. I’ve well exceeded my limit of ‘second chances’ and ‘close calls’. It’s time to stop now. Really, the clock is ticking and at this rate, it’s not a question of ‘if’ my luck will run out, but ‘when’.

Some of you will remember, ’round this time last year, I quit drinking. Well, I did, for 6 months, then had a touch here and there. Started thinking I could do so in moderation, but over the past few months it’s become readily apparent to me that I can’t.

I don’t want it to get weird with us. I know in the past I’ve always felt weird and didn’t know how to act around people when they told me they didn’t drink or had quit. Probably partly in due to the fact that it reminded me that I had a problem myself.

“Oh. Uh. Sorry.” Hides beer behind back. Retreats. Communication tapers off, never to be heard from again.

Honestly, it’s been so long that it’s hard for me to even interact without alcohol. Fact of the matter is, it freaks me right the fuck out to think about going anywhere with a group of people without it. And go to a bar and not order a drink? Forget it. Not happening man.

Some of you I’ve been drinking with so long, it’s second nature. It’s intrinsic. It will be weird no matter what, but it’s gotta happen.

I have to re-learn how to interact with people without it and that’s gonna take me some time. Be patient with me while I straighten my shit out. It will mean less nights out for me – and/or shorter ones, or bouts of moody weirdness, but I’ll get it.

So that’s it boys and girls, it was fun while it lasted. I’m tired of the guilt and the loneliness and the shame. I’m tired of being ‘owned’ by it and living in fear of when the next shoe will drop.

I was talking with Lyn about it and she says to me “It’s a choice, you know. A choice you have to make.”

“It’s a disease, too.” I said.

“Yes. But even people with the disease still have to make the choice.”

So I’ll be making that choice. Now, tomorrow, all the time, for the rest of my time. I realize now the meaning of it. That you’re never really ‘cured’ – that’s where I made my mistake before. From here on out I’m a recovering alcoholic – that’s what it will mean to get up in one piece every day and feel good about myself.

So this Thanksgiving that’s what I’m thankful for – I made it out alive – with my conscience semi-intact – when so many haven’t. My family and friends are still in one piece and I get to move forward with their love and support. I’m lucky to have that.

So next time you see me you don’t be afraid to ask me how it’s going. I’ll probably tell you it’s rough sometimes – but that’s alright, what’s important is that it IS going. It’s a part of who I am now and it will always be.

You don’t have to hide your beer – just buy me a soda.

“It’s not you, it’s me. I think we should just be friends.”

Hi. I’m Kent. I’m a recovering alcoholic. I’ve been sober for 5 days.

The calm amidst the storm.

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Eesh.

Where did I put the, um...nevermind.

Spring has sprung with a vengance. This workbench was clean a week ago.

Slammed. Trying to get way more work done than humanly possible.

Last day. Tomorrow Lyn leaves for DC and I’m solo with the short squad for 5 days.

Note to self: pick up two-four on way home.

Further communiques could be sporadic…

Reality check.

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So I’ve just drank the last beer in the house. The significance of this will become apparent later.

We’ve hit a bit of a bump here at buKit central and financially, things aren’t what all would hope it could be. Well, at least us anyway.

At this point, I’ll take the opportunity to mention to all family and friends reading this that this IS NOT a veiled, or, poorly contrived effort to solicit money. A blogging superhero of mine once mentioned that the only true bloggers were one’s that didn’t sensor or regulate what they wrote but just wrote it, with no thought as to who would be reading it. I think he made this comment in reference to Raymi. Anyway…

My point is, by spewing all this forth, I’m merely just venting. Writing. Healing. Whatever you choose to call it. I just want to be honest. Not all blog entries are ‘the day I met Bono and the sun shined.’ Er. Something.

I’m currently writing this into Simple Text ’cause I’ll need to save it to post from work tomorrow. See, I’ve got no more internet. We cancelled that. I’ve got no long distance phone either, so don’t expect me to call you. We’ve lowered our satellite to the basic package so we only get 175 channels of mindless drivel vs. the 375 we were getting with our boosted package.

If that doesn’t get your attention, I’ve ‘decided’ that I simply can’t afford to play hockey this year.

Grim times indeed.

What’s all this about you ask? Well, bucks, man. Bucks. We don’t have enough of them. We are out of bounds and it’s finally caught up with us. The cupboard is bare.

Yours truly is looking for a second job. That’s right. Like a schlep one – working at the grocery store.

So I’m cruising the want ads. The other day I went into a Sobey’s and filled our an application. AN APPLICATION. I haven’t filled out a job application in probably 10 years. What worries me more is that they haven’t called me yet. Perhaps I’m a liability. I always hear about these drunken designers going on shooting rampages when their books aren’t deemed up to snuff.

It would appear I’m not good enough to serve up rotisserie chickens to the 5 o’clock crowd. Well, at least not yet.

So now I’m looking for alternate ways to help pay the rent.

I dunno. I’m just here to vent, people. Let me vent.

It will (probably) work out. These things usually do. But you never think that in the midst of them. At the time, they are full-scale monumental realizations that hit you like a ton of utility bills in mail bags dropped on your head.

And then the freelance goes away.

I’m digging out now. Stay tuned. My hosting is paid up for 2 years as of October, so I’ll be checking in regardless.

From someone else’s internet connection.

Which brings me to my original point.

The sole remaining beer. It was a Fin du Monde, left over from the Quebec trip. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion, but tonight, it lost out to impulse.

It was so good. And now it’s gone.

With a 24 of Alpine in cans ringing in at $48, beer – even in it’s basest form – is now something I can’t afford. Lyn has given up her vice – pop – as well, as it’s to expensive.

$48 for a case of beer. Even with the deposit on the cans, there is something so fucking wrong with that.

Revenue Canada wrote me to tell me that they had denied my claim for moving expenses to Canada and I owed them $500. This is 3 months AFTER they sent me my refund of around $800 – which of course was spent a long time ago.

Another branch of Canadian Government wrote to tell me that they had calculated my child income tax deductions wrong and they were crediting me $200 which they conveniently deposited directly into my account THAT VERY DAY via direct deposit.

Today, they wrote again to tell me that they had calculated wrong and wanted $100 of the money back.

I’m angry. I’m stressed. I’m exhausted.

Lyn’s Mom said something to the effect that ‘when times are hard, as long as you’re still able to laugh together, that’s what’s important.’

I’ve got a bike sitting in the garage that’s been waiting to be built for 3 years. I have all the parts. I’ve been too busy or too uninspired to find the time to do it. This is a crime. I want to swear I’ll have it done before the new year, but am afraid to set myself up for the disappointment when it isn’t and I’ve set the deadline.

I think I’ll play the 3 chords I’ve learned on guitar for another 1/2 hour and go to bed.

Seems like the best thing to do. Really.

Which way is up?

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So I’m trolling the web this evening. Spent some time on ecmtb among other spots.

I shoulda been working on a freelance gig for think, but after much back and forth of files today and a boatload of frustration, I arrive at home to begin and realize that I’ve been sent the wrong files. Clock is ticking. Job’s due Monday. 3 guesses at what I’ll be doing this weekend. That and laying out a cover of a poetry book. Don’t worry, Julie – they’re from the ‘States and tiny – no conflict of interest.

What else? Oh yeah – a dual kid birthday party to plan. We should have had invites out prolly around a week ago, alas we as yet don’t even have a venue. We were going to do it at our house, opted out thinking the Superstore would be a good option. BUZZER. No kids under 5. That rules out Emma and her crew, so it’s back to the drawing board. I was thinking we should just take all 10 of the minions to a party room some where, give ‘em a jug of kool aid, a bag of chips, some granulated sugar and 10 cans of silly string, close the door and let ‘em have at it. ‘Tis what memories are made of…

Parents can hang at the bar.

It’s raining here. No. It’s snowing. It’s snaining. Or rowing. We’ve had 2 days of rain. They’re calling for 10cm of snow tomorrow, then ‘heavy rains’ on Saturday. Climate Change, what? The climate here seems to change on the hour. Monsoon at 5, 6:30 drought. I exaggerate, but well – it’s fun to. The only good thing is that the milder temps mean hopefully more saddle time on the bike. Always a good thing.

I swear by something – I dunno, my hockey gear – that I’m going to get some sort of portfolio up here by the end of the month. I’ve been saying that since Jan. 1. It must be done. Shit. Wait. Birthday and the parents visiting is end of the month. I rescind my swear. It might not happen. You’ll have to be happy with the custom handmade ‘bucket’ illustration atop the sidebar for now.

The highlight of the week, Rush has a new album out May 1st. Now if only an 8 pack of Alpine in cans wasn’t $14.85, I might be able to celebrate a little.

$14.85. For beer. In CANS even.

I mean, your average high school kid can’t afford that. What’s the world coming to?

I’ve been reduced to buying the ‘cheap stuff’ (hardly) due to my dire financial constraints. See the portfolio reference above.

Ahhhh, I remember the salad days of Moosehead, or even some sort of Microbrew in BOTTLES. Heady times they were.

Wish I was back in Ol’ Virginny to sample some of DT’s handcrafted goods. I never had the chance to sample any, but I can tell by the way the man talks beer that his product is goooooood.

Well, I haven’t sunk to Milwaukee’s Best or Malt Liquor yet, so there’s still hope.