One, Two, Three, Floor.

I don't remember the dream, in fact, I may not have been out long enough to start R.E.M. sleep. I do remember somebody shouting at me to get up. Possibly giving me a nudge or, in this case, a kick. How rude. I know I didn't feel good and I just wanted to sleep a little longer. But it was no use, the bartender wanted me off of the bathroom floor and probably out of the bar altogether. It was early afternoon and I had blacked out and apparently decided to take a nap directly underneath a urinal at my favorite bar The Parkway Pub in Lanesboro.

In my heavy drinking days, it was more common than not that you could find me in a drunken stupor at any time, regardless of having an upcoming shift at work or not. I was a day drinker. I liked getting hammered before brushing my teeth. My personal favorite thing to was start up at 8am or whenever I woke up, pass out or black out, then do it again before the day was done. I lived in filth, and I didn't care. Every penny I made went to drinking, paying drinking debts, or gambling while drinking. I didn't need the bar to get drunk, but I didn't like getting drunk alone, and there were always people there. Or, in many cases, it was just me alone at the bar. It normally opened at 10am, and I would be half in the bag when I arrived.

This is for those people who ask me time and time again if I'll go back to drinking when I'm off parole. No. I can't because it will be the cause of my early death. When I was doing meth, every now and then people would ask me if I wanted to smoke some crack. My answer was always the same, "Do you want to keep your TV?" I know when I can't do something. It's different than when I shouldn't do something. I'm not implying that I will ever go back to using anything, but if I do, and its alcohol: game over.

Same bar, different day: I stumbled through the back alley behind the bar, trying to make sense of direction. I came out of the alleyway on to the road where I suddenly realized I was making concentric circles, and I eventually hit the ground. I don't know how much time passed, but I awoke to an officer holding a flashlight on me asking things in jibberish. Well, okay, it was English, but I didn't get it. I remember very few of the details of this incident, but I know I blew a .36 and was allowed to be walked home by the bar owner who had to sign for me. I also remember walking up the front steps to my apartment, down the hallway, and out the back door to go to the other main bar in town to tell people my hilarious story. That day was a payday. When I woke up the next morning every cent I had was gone. I probably gambled it all away, but I will never know.

My name is Vince, and I'm an alcoholic. I can't ever forget that. To think that I could ever just have one is absurd. Give me one, and I need the rest at any cost. Never doubt these words.