Someday, I’ll be able to sit this bottle down. That dull ache in my side says sooner would be better than later. I’ve got problems though.

I pour my solutions out into a glass, splashing over the cubes of ice, watching euphoria fill the tumbler. The smell hits me at first, reminding me that I threw up this morning. The taste isn’t so bad if I send it down quick. My stomach protests.

“Recovery isn’t complete, let’s take a night off.” it groans. The best response for my protesting stomach is more whiskey. It doesn’t take long to warm the pain in my belly, dull that ache in my side, quiet those voices in my head, ease the throbbing skull, and spread happiness in my brain.

Dim euphoria comes now. Smiles curling at the edges of lips that rarely do so. I can’t remember what I was so upset about. What were those problems again? Who cares?

Somewhere that shining warmth turns to nausea and then blackout.

The next day is always the worst. The uncertainty about last night, the nausea, and the hours of sobriety.