PO Box 1980

I remember my last drunk as clearly as if it were yesterday. I wanted to die. In fact, I loaded a twelve gauge shotgun, filling the magazine, too drunk to realize I needed only one shot. I placed the barrel in my mouth and was reaching for the trigger with a broomstick when a voice in my head told me to reach for the telephone instead. I had no idea who to call but I picked up the phone and dialed "operator." The operator answered and I talked to her for about five minutes.