I'm not sure if *addicted* applies in my case, but I love teh alcoholic beverages, and once or twice a week (once, lately, because I'm working so much
) I'm of the persuasion to get out of my mind; that is, fuckered up. Sadly, I'm not
really able to slash and burn as much as I used to (again, work is keeping me busy *knocks on wood*) but I do enjoy the occasional leaving of Planet Earth when times allow.
.......
I should clarify. I love the
progression. That is, I love (and hate, safe dif) the progressive oddness my mind wanders to after every drink. The fullness of imaginative scenarios, right there, in front of me, so real that I catch myself mouthing the words. The
warmth of the surrounding crowd, where before the drink they were cold and unfamiliar. I loathe the drunkard, honestly, but I love the drunk.
I don't know. I love talking to people and looking into their eyes. Most drinkers are liars, but there are a very few wheat nuggets that escape the chaff and have a story. That's what I live for.