Last week I invited some friends over for a The Road party. The idea here was that we would drink a few White Russians, pop on the 2010 film The Road, and have a rip-roaring good time. The big laugh for my pals was that I don't drink, and yet I would be drinking. The big laugh for me, hopefully, would be the 2010 film The Road.It was fun, I guess, for an event that wound up with me alone on the couch, fast forwarding through an oppressively farty movie while everyone else migrated to the back yard. But at the end of the night I found myself tossing half of my only White Russian down the sink. I'd ingested enough to make me a little dizzy. Any more, and I'd have thrown up.My problem involves capacity. At a certain age (29? 36?) the option to develop any sort of tolerance expires. Because teenage me never snuck into the woods with a heisted six pack, or a thermos full of Pabst and sangria, or a baggie of skank weed, I am now denied doing any of those things as an adult. I never cultivated my endurance. One glass of red wine, for me, equals a double-shot epidural. One pleasant Irish coffee coats the following day in the same haze of confusion as if I'd eaten a big warm batch of black tar heroin brownies. There's no pleasurable middle ground. It's either one-chuckle tipsy, Sad Clown puking, or buried-alive comatose. It's not like I'm trying to get drunk all that often, but hey, it'd be nice to have the option.For the first quarter century of my life, sobriety was a badge of honor. I still agree with all my reasons for abstaining. Booze is gross. Drugs are scary. Drunks are pee machines that convert into fight machines. Bars are the stupidest things humans have ever invented. Yes, stupider than war. Is this even a question? Sweet Jesus, you're in a room full of bumping dummies holding mugs of sloshy liquid! It's a nightmare!All these things are true. But superimposed over these truths are several equally valid countertruths. Life is tedious, and long. Intolerably so. I'm only at the halfway point now! And the life of the teetotaler is beset by inhuman loneliness. People who imbibe (ie., everyone) are generally threatened by people who stay sober. The imbibers express their insecurity with all manner of snubs, zingers, and passive-aggressive shenanigans. But mostly snubs. If you like to get snubbed for a lot of social functions, not drinking is the RX. And that's a problem. Loneliness stinks. Boredom's not so hot either. From what I hear, drinking and doing drugs are great ways to fight both. Since I have the liver, nervous system, and general tolerance of an infant, I've apparently got a great deal of lonely boredom in the years ahead.Which means I'm stuck here, in reality, while all of you get to go to some magical fantasy party dimension. Facing this prospect over the course of a weekend is tolerable. But facing down a life sentence of sobriety is kind of a brutal thought. A good friend once described his mental state, during a long-ago drug bender, as "boneless." I'm glad he recovered, but sad for myself. Shall I never experience bonelessness?SAM MCPHEETERShttp://twitter.com/#!/sammcpheetersPreviously - Prison TV Shows
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