I'm somewhat pleased and somehow saddened to announce that I am officially sober. I wish there was a rhyming phrase like Just set it and forget it! to make the foreverness of sobriety more attractive, but I can't complain about the decision because I had a great drinking life.

Like that time I drank two bottles of red wine and the next day my excrement was pitch black.

Or that time I poured straight whiskey into an empty beer can because it seemed less illegal to drink from a can of beer while driving.

But the straw that broke the camel's liver was when I fainted three times after waking up. A hundred fifty pounds of flesh and bones dropped to the hard floor again and again until my bruised and bloody body could fight the effects of gravity.

I was the classic victim who drank in order to feel creative, and when I woke up each morning I thought If only I hadn't drank anything then I would have spent my time doing something creative.

So I'm done. I have been for a month, actually. I admit that I miss the byproduct of whiskey leaving my anus in the morning, like a horndog finally scurrying free after a one-night stand. And I'm concerned that sobriety has taught me that I have less in common with people than I thought. But thank God I'm able to maintain my creativity. I am so ready to embarrass and harm myself with  no other excuse than I'm a clumsy idiot. Here's to finding a world of things to do in between not pouring drinks. [ clink ]