What a Difference

I’m traveling again for work, back to the scene of the crime of my last gambling relapse and probably where I realized my drinking had shifted from fun to fundamentally destructive. So I’m crossing off another scary sober to-do: a week sober back in the city I hate being in.

Scratch that. I don’t hate the city. I hate the things I did while here. I hate my attempts to run away. A lot of mistakes made here, a lot of shame. It strikes me as one more reason to bid this job goodbye: no further need to return here and keep reliving one sordid memory after another. Sean on the balcony. Jeremy on the balcony. Aggie. Alan. Cleaning Matt’s bathroom. Matt on the mountain. Other Shawn. Poor red wine guy. That guy who I liked but wasn’t interested in more. Flashing James. DS. Where I started really feeling unworthy and that I needed to buy affection.

Mike was the only one I’d revisit and that’s because it never fully played out.

I just took so many wrong turns and got lost here. At least during this trip I can start to take the wheel back. If I can stay sober and sane this week, I won’t have much left to fear … at least as it pertains to drinking anyway.