Happy Hour

In June 1980, I became a single mother with a ten-year-old son. Finally free to be my own person, I had the world by the tail and did not need anyone to take care of us. I found a two-bedroom apartment, a job where I could work from eleven P.M. to seven A.M., and a reliable sitter to sleep over. On the way home, I would stop, get beers, and just rap. On weekends, I went out country dancing and drinking. Soon, I found a fun fellow to party with. I learned to guzzle my beer and to drink every day. I soon blew him off and went on to another man and then another, until I ended up sleeping with some people I didn't even know. When things started getting bad, I changed jobs, thinking that would improve things. Unfortunately, they got worse. I was slipping into a pit of self-pity. I even shrugged off the offer of a position as a manager because I was not good enough.