I would not make a very good bulimic. More than close-up shots of heart surgery on television, more than the sight of a needle piercing skin, I hate throwing up. The reversal of gravity that comes from within my body, the sheer violence of it. One warm afternoon in September I was weary with nausea. I tried to recall what I’d eaten but nothing out of the ordinary came to mind. I’d consumed several cans of beer, but there was nothing unusual about that. That night I slept, sort of, but by morning I was on my knees in the bathroom, secretly hoping for a quick death. That’s a bit dramatic, of course, but I do seriously hate the entire ritual of barfing. I took small, tentative sips of water, which my body promptly rejected. At about four in the afternoon, feeling sort of better, I walked down to the corner grocery and bought a cold can of Sprite. I nursed that can until 9 o’clock that evening. I have never enjoyed the taste of soda as much as I did that day. Then I took a shower and went to bed. When I woke up the next morning, a slew of empty beer cans greeted me when I walked into the kitchen. The smell of them – I’d meant to rinse them and put them out on the curb, but illness intervened – made me gag. I skipped the rinsing and put them into a plastic bag as quickly as I could and put them out. I drank water all morning. At around two in the afternoon I opened the refrigerator and came face to face with two 12-packs of PBR (I never ran out of beer, ever). I considered putting them out on the curb, box and all. I considered just dumping them in the garbage. For some reason, what I did was stand at my sink, holding my nose with my left hand and, with my right hand, opened and poured 24 cans down the drain. I was a very experienced beer drinker, and it was no problem to do all this with one hand. I ran the hot water and poured Murphy’s Oil Soap into the sink to get rid of the stench. I ate crackers for dinner that night and watched the first debate between John McCain and Barack Obama, which was held in Oxford, Mississippi.
That was a year ago today. It’s funny to think about things in terms of time units. For many years my life revolved around drinking beer. But something happened that day that changed me: the act of throwing up, for me, was like my instinct to drink being expelled. So for the last 52 weeks I’ve had the privilege of enjoying things in a way I’d somehow forgotten. Food tastes good, I finish books, I meet people for coffee and it’s not a prelude to going to get smashed at a bar in the middle of the afternoon. For the most part I sleep very soundly at night. I've gotten to know people in a different way, which has been both good and bad (though mostly good). Parties are the most interesting thing. I thought it might be awkward to go to gatherings where people are drinking but it’s not. It’s fun actually, and I can remember conversations in the morning. Lucky me, because I’ve seen people who struggle with evicting alcohol from their lives and it’s horrifying to witness.
I wish I had something more grandiose and profound to say, but here’s the truth: for me, my favorite thing about not drinking is the smell of toast. If I could find incense that smelled like toast, I’d buy a case or maybe even two.
That was a year ago today. It’s funny to think about things in terms of time units. For many years my life revolved around drinking beer. But something happened that day that changed me: the act of throwing up, for me, was like my instinct to drink being expelled. So for the last 52 weeks I’ve had the privilege of enjoying things in a way I’d somehow forgotten. Food tastes good, I finish books, I meet people for coffee and it’s not a prelude to going to get smashed at a bar in the middle of the afternoon. For the most part I sleep very soundly at night. I've gotten to know people in a different way, which has been both good and bad (though mostly good). Parties are the most interesting thing. I thought it might be awkward to go to gatherings where people are drinking but it’s not. It’s fun actually, and I can remember conversations in the morning. Lucky me, because I’ve seen people who struggle with evicting alcohol from their lives and it’s horrifying to witness.
I wish I had something more grandiose and profound to say, but here’s the truth: for me, my favorite thing about not drinking is the smell of toast. If I could find incense that smelled like toast, I’d buy a case or maybe even two.
