May 2012: A Royal Bottom

Wallowing in gin while watching the funeral of a princess, a dad finally wakes up to his own life

I remember exactly where I was when I heard the news of Princess Diana’s death 15 years ago. I remember it quite well. It was August 31. Just as I had done many times in the past months, and maybe even years, I was coming to in the middle of the night after having passed out the evening before. As the oblivion of the previous hours began to fade, the shakes came upon me. I groped my way through my small, dingy, unlit apartment to find whatever gin, beer or wine was left from the night before.

I found about a third of a gin bottle and took it with me to the bathroom, as I knew it would be a fight to successfully keep it down. After just a few hours without it, a part of my body was screaming for alcohol in order to stop the withdrawals. Another part was trying to reject it for the poison it knew it was. This battle had become an almost daily routine and, as usual, Lord Bacchus finally won out and I shuffled to the couch and turned on the TV to once again find out what was going on in the world.

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