Sometimes we alcoholics pretend that we are normal people. At least we think that we have some normal characteristics. Eventually, we grudgingly come to realize that there isn't very much normal about our reaction to the world around us but take solace in the fact that we now understand the difference between appropriate behavior and how we behave. We still don't change our behavior, of course, but we are full of a glowing self-awareness of our cool outsider, contrarian, quirky, dufus hipsterness. Then ... we start talking to Earth People. We notice that they get a wary look in their eyes or start to slowly edge away.
For instance, I talk to myself. In a normal human voice, in public, and with barely concealed enthusiasm. I'm the most fascinating individual on earth so why wouldn't I hold an animated conversation with myself? When I was drinking I talked to people who weren't there and weren't real, like reporters from Rolling Stone who wondered how I could be such an incredible rock star or ESPN anchors asking how it felt to hit the winning shot, score the winning touchdown, or blast the winning home run to secure the Championship of the World. I wasn't the guy making the pass to the guy who hit the winning shot -- I was the big tamale. I was the star attraction. The fact that I was too drunk to get off the couch and change the channel didn't slow me down for a second. I couldn't jog down the block let alone bowl over some charging linebacker.
Eventually I migrated to talking to real people who weren't actually physically present. Giving leads in front of large crowds of adoring recovery groupies, whose lives I would save with my insightful and profound remarks. I was involved in a fair number of arguments as well, where I sliced up a rival with my rapier wit and razor sharp tongue. Everybody seemed interested in what I had to say.
My wife disabused me of the notion that this is appropriate behavior: "Normal people don't talk out loud to themselves."
Now she has taken to yelling unhelpful little comments when she catches me babbling away: "I hear you in there!" or "Who are you talking to in the bathroom?" It has gotten quite embarrassing. No one likes to hear: "We are the only two people in the house and you aren't talking to me."
I still talk to myself, of course. I can't help it.
2 comments:
Once again Serenity Steve, you have made me laugh out loud, with a slight welling of tears in my eyes....wierdo.
I, for one, would like to be near enough to you when you talk to yourself that I could hear what you say. I don't think your wife will love that comment however. Consider me part of the audience now, haha.
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