I wasn’t surprised to be kicked out by my new roommates, but it happened even faster than I had expected. Initially, I had moved in when they were headed for New York on vacation, and was booted over the phone before they even returned. With more than ample justification. We started drinking the night before they left and after they were gone I kept it up for a number of days. Alone, with Zach the rabbit and a collection of decent comedy DVDs. I had the time of my life drinking, sleeping, watching movies tailor-made for the oxygen-deprived brain and experimenting with Zach’s diet. Did he like raw garlic? Ginger? Fudgsicles? Yes, to varying degrees. He even ate some of my beard right off my face. Meanwhile, I drank in greater quantity than I ever had before. At some point, it became clear that I was headed for a horrible detox. Indeed, when I finally decided to sweat it out, I felt close to death. After two days of vomiting, shaking and swimming in cold sweat, I felt well enough to walk to the bank and grocery store, and to eat and drink lots of water. When you get so sick from drink that you can’t hold down water, you get pretty dehydrated. My lips had scabs on them. All of this sounds horrible, but it’s tough to put a price on 4-5 days of happy oblivion when your life sucks. I was hoping it was Zach who had pissed on the floor. I was pretty sure it was me who had fallen on the coffee table and broken it. Whoever’s piss it was, I cleaned it up pretty well and I had plenty of time left to get new glass for the table. I even managed to drive back to my mom’s to pick up my sorely needed meds. I popped a paxil and a couple of atavan, then maybe one more so that I could knock out and finally recuperate to get shit in order, both in the house and in my personal life. Things did not go according to plan.
I’ve never done serious hallucinogens so was ill prepared for the next couple of days. Apparently drinking myself almost to death so that
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