Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 6: The Fear of Being Me

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 6: 

The Fear of Being Me

The world is a strange place... some might even call it fucked up. I know I sure do.

I've been mostly quiet on social media as of late. I've been doing a lot of soul searching as it were. And by soul searching, I guess I really mean getting drunk and contemplating why I am getting drunk.

The answer is simple - I am afraid of who I am going to be when sobriety hits. I'm afraid that being sober will prove to me just how boring I am as a human being.

Drinking every night allows me to not care.

If I'm drinking I get to relax, unwind, and just not give a fuck about what I'm doing and who I am. It's like hitting snooze on reality. I'm able to hit that button and, internally, pretend I'm a youthful twenty-something drinking the night away in my old apartment while watching 'Lost' or 'Stargate SG-1' reruns at midnight...

My kids are young and they know what Bourbon is. They know what beer is. And they know that Daddy drinks one of them with dinner all the time and pretty much any time he's outside...

And that shit needs to stop.

I'm not sure if I can Cold-Turkey that shit... But I need to change. I know I do.

I'm living a life chronically under-hydrated. I wake every night around 2am when the alcohol wears off and my body remembers that the Check Engine light came on months ago. I am grossly out of shape for a man who used to run 5 miles at a 6-minute mile pace.

And there is my goal... to run 5 miles. In one go. Without stopping. Not at a 6-minute pace... but I'd be happy with 8 or 9.

To achieve this goal, I'm going to need to do a few other things before then...

First, I'll need to lose some weight. Right now I'm riding a less-than-healthy 20 extra lbs of swinging Dad-Bod than just over a year ago... and it's not very sexy or conducive to running. I think my knees would literally fucking explode should I try to run in my current shape. This will require a new way of eating. Not eating an entire bag of chips is a good start... as well as smaller portions, more water, less sugar, less chocolate, and more getting up off my ass throughout the day.

Second, I'll need to find time to work out/get up and moving. Right now I work all day, but there is time in there for me to move stuff around. I need 3-4 days a week where I can get out of the house and move. Just move. Walk, jog, hike, bike, and not be a stationary body.

Third, I'll need to curb my drinking. I'm willing to allow myself 1 night... 2 on special occasions to have a drink or unwind. As much as I'd like to go full-on sober... I'm not dumb enough to believe I can.

So - today is April 18, 2021... I will start this week with small, manageable steps. Chicken and rice for lunch... more salads and green, leafy things. Less fried food and pizza... and more water.

Who knows, maybe somewhere down below the layers of alcoholic fog and denial, I might find out that I'm a decent human being with some good, hidden talents. Jesus... I am capable to doing a lot with my current state and I feel like it's driving with the parking brake on. Maybe I'll level up... Maybe I'll blow up. Either way - it could be an interesting journey.

So - Maybe this blog will be less about how much I've been drinking and more about the changes I see in myself. Or maybe I'll just abandon this blog and this persona... leave it behind and forge ahead.

I still love sex, drinking, hentai, sex, more sex, and all the things therein... but Lady Bourbon and I have grown so much in the last 2 years that this persona is no longer needed as the emotional pressure release valve as it used to be...

Who knows.

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 5: The Other Side

  Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 5: 

The Other Side

Today is Sunday, March 7, 2021... And we are 351 days into the "new normal" forced upon the Bourbon household by the Coronavirus pandemic.

That's right... just under a year ago, I went into work only to find that the governor had closed everything... so I went home looked at Lady Bourbon and said "Well, fuck..." Then the serious drinking began. In a few weeks, we put down literally GALLONS of bourbon, wine, and vodka... And even though we tried to remain upbeat and positive - it's not always easy. As a person with Catastrophobia - as described in the blog entry "There are many anxieties... but this one is mine" - I immediately went to "Well, this will end up like 'The Road' or 'The Stand' before it's over!" - and then I began to plan. And then I continued to have massive anxiety... and depression... and fear... and I coped with it by downing more and more alcohol.

Day drinking? Check.

Night time drinking? Check.

Drinks with dinner? Check.

Drink drink drink drink drink... then suffer through nightmares of PTSD and fear over what would happen in the coming months. It was a really good time for the ole Dr. B.

Some time around June... 3 months into the lockdown/pandemic bullshit, I started going back to the VA hospital for treatment. They assigned me a new shrink - she's not very good, but she offers some outside perspective that I wouldn't normally have so that's good. (Example: My need to plan and prepare probably comes from my departure from Iraq. The unit replacing us decided to ignore our hand-off plans when we left. One week later, 8 of them were dead from an IED.) Then I got assigned an actual psychiatrist and not just a therapist... and this one, despite not knowing me from Adam, offered to put me on some antidepressants.

Look - I am normally 100% against being medicated. I've seen too many of my brothers-in-arms be turned into zombies because the VA just throws pills down their throats and sends them on their way. After holding out for 5 months, I called them up and decided to finally take them up on the offer. Drinking and pretending to be okay just wasn't cutting it.

Now, 3 months into these new meds... I feel like a fucking superstar. And not just the drug-induced false thoughts of "I don't care! La la la la!" - I actually recognize the difference in how things are being processed in my brain... I can actually feel myself regaining my sense of self that I once had way back in the "good old days" of the late 90s. Before 9/11. Before leaving home for Iraq... And I love the way it feels now. I love that I no longer feel that weight of doom and gloom bearing down on me over every little thing. I love the fact that these meds are, in fact, helping to rewrite my brain chemistry to be the way it was before the trauma. Before I lost my sense of happiness and light. The Bourbon of yester-year.

I've come out of the long, dark tunnel that I've been walking through for so long. And the other side is wonderfully lit. It is full of luscious green grass, and the sweet smell of flowers and life. The storm clouds are still there in the distance. I can see them. I can still hear the thunder... but I'm enjoying this patch of golden sunshine. It feels like home.

It feels like going home again.

Am I still drinking?

Oh, fuck yes. I'm an alcoholic. I can't just turn that shit off. I do, however, enjoy that I've been drinking less. 1 bottle now lasts the week instead of the weekend. I go to bed almost every night at 10:00 instead of midnight or 1am...

The tunnel I've been in for so long was dark. There were window and open spaces here and there, but every time, I'd head back into the dark. I've had friends along the way for part of the journey. I've had Lady Bourbon walking hand-in-hand through most of this journey... and she got me through the hard parts.

My hope is that this re-found sense of happiness and self-worth will allow me to help others. Maybe I can help Lady Bourbon with her anxieties. Maybe I can just be happy with being me and not give a shit about the rest of the world... Who knows.

I just know that I feel so much better today compared to one year ago.

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 4: Bibo Ergo Sum

 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 4: 

Bibo Ergo Sum

The problem with giving up a crutch - be it smoking, drinking, drugs, sex, porn... whatever - is that you HAVE to want to give it up. And therein lies the biggest problem in getting sober/clean.

A year ago (10 months ago) I quit smoking at the start of lockdown. Cold turkey. Just threw them out and haven't smoked a cigarette since then.

And I fucking LOVE to smoke. I mean, seriously - smoking was awesome. I loved lighting up, getting that smell of the tobacco igniting for the first time, and feeling it fill my lungs with the sweet awesomeness of nicotine. But I knew that it was a bad idea. Especially when you see the news about a raspatory illness that is literally killing people all over the world. That made the decision easier for me. As did the lockdown... I no longer spent 2 hours in the car every day. I no longer worked every day with 11 other smokers. I removed those things from my life and BOOM - I quit smoking. 

But as I contemplate sobriety I struggle with the desire to quit as I am a high-functioning alcoholic. 

Drinking is literally a part of my persona. It has become synonymous with who I am as a human being. I chose the name Dr. Bourbon because, well, I fucking love Bourbon. And scotch. And vodka... gin... tequila... The list goes on. I love the taste of them. I love the slow burn. I love the slow, gradual wearing down of the sharp edges as I drink. I love the way I stop concentrating on the problems and just enjoy the moment when I drink.

And I think that is a big part of my problem. I can't enjoy the moment when I have anxiety about fucking EVERYTHING. And when I drink, that anxiety slips away. I stop thinking about work. I stop worrying about my house's problems. I stop thinking about the fucking government and white supremacists... I just simply enjoy being.

This lifestyle... this persona has been a cultivated thing since September of 1996. As a freshman at college I was given a 32 ounce cup of Jack Daniels and Coke by my neighbor... and I took to it like a fish to fucking water.

I, being the grandchild of 4 alcoholics, seemed to have a predisposition for alcohol consumption. We all joked about the Freshman with the tolerance of a Senior. And thus, I stepped into that life willingly.

It hasn't changed since then. I still drink. I still love to drink. I still love the flavor of the various liquors... A good bourbon and a nice scotch are better than most things in life. But now I am cognizant of the health issues I face as one who drinks so much... 

I am constantly dehydrated. I am overweight. I'm probably pre-diabetic... my last visit to the VA said I was actually pretty healthy and my numbers were good, but that I should possibly consider changing my diet before I pass the point of no return.

And so here I am... every morning I wake up, angry at the fact that I drank so much and resigned to going to bed sober! But then, after dinner, I pour a glass and relax. Then another. Then another... Day in, day out.

Lather, rinse, repeat...

I'm now about a month into taking antidepressants. And they help. They do not, however, seem to get along well with the drinking. The medication adds to the dehydration issues which compounds my bruxism (jaw clenching and teeth grinding) and adds to generally feeling like crap because it also makes me constipated.... I know, TMI. But this is my blog so fuck off.

Last night, I went to bed sober. I drank no alcohol. And I am attempting to drink water all day... 

This is day one.

I don't know if there will be multiple day ones, but I'm going to do it.

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks

 Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 3: 

I Know Why The Caged Bird Drinks

The day has ended, you leave work... and you have 2 options:

1: Go home

2: Go to the bar

But we are living in a "work from home" environment and the bars are closed... Or at least limited in open seats. So... here you are, sitting at home all day, working on your laptop, answering Skype calls and having Zoom meetings for 8 hours - or 5 hours if you lie like some of my coworkers - and now the metaphorical whistle blows and you're done for the day!

Only you're not.

You've got 2 kids who just showed up from school and they're grumpy and angry and don't want to do their homework. You have a friend texting you because they hate their job. Your spouse is just as unhappy with their job as you are, and you can't scream into the void that you 'JUST WANT EVERYTHING TO BACK TO NORMAL!!!!!'

So... you go to the kitchen at 5PM and pour a drink. And another. And another. By 5:30, you've got a nice buzz and the bullshit from work seems less bullshit-ish. Your kids' whining about school seems less obnoxious. You're able to take a moment, relax, and say, "Well, at least I'm alive and I made money today."

THIS... is the new American dream.

And Joe Biden, Bernie Sanders, and AOC aren't going to magically make this better. You can't legislate happiness folks. You can't legislate morality either... but that's a whole different blog post.

The American dream is now not losing your fucking mind after 8 hours in the "home office" and then changing venues by "going to the kitchen." Jesus, I feel bad for people doing this in an apartment. I would've burned that shit down by now.

So there it is... In glowing technicolor - the life and times of a guy who doesn't want to scream at his kids or spouse so he uses antidepressants and and alcohol to TURN THAT FROWN UPSIDE DOWN!

And I know I'm not alone in this. Fuck, if I was - the term "Happy Hour" wouldn't fucking exist. And Happy Hour has been around longer than I have... 

We all just want to get by... but the system is fucking broken. The new American Model is broken even more than the rest. Because we pray at the altar of Capitalism and the money gods need their sacrifices... So work hard, shut up, and ignore your family. Be so down-trodden that by the end of the day you just want to stare at your phone to escape and drink wine or bourbon or beer to just NOT FEEL... 

Then wake up, down 3 50mg tablets of Zoloft and go on about your day... 

The American. Fucking. Dream...

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 2: What Dreams May Come

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 2: 

What Dreams May Come

The world is burning, I've spent most of the week sober, and Trump leaves office this week. All in all - I think it's been a good week? 4 days in a row sober. 2 nights in a row not...

I saw the VA doc this week. They tell me I'll live another day. This, I suppose, is good news. I like living. They haven't tried pushing anymore meds on me - so that's good. I am still on my build-up of Sertaline... my last dosage increase will happen on Tuesday. And thank fuck for that. Every time I go up to the next dosage level, my body reacts with 3 days of diarrhea and that... just fucking sucks. On the bright side, however, I am feeling the effects of it.

I've never taken anti-depressants before. I took Welbutrin once to help quit smoking, but that did not end well for me. It caused me to have horrible nightmares, major anxiety, and paranoia. It was, in a word, misery. Which is why I quit smoking cold-turkey this time. Fuck that noise... 

I am pleasantly surprised with how I am reacting to this new one. My dreams have been, more or less, entertaining and less "We're all going to die." - which is huge. They are, however, really vivid dreams. Which is actually really cool. I've had dreams about all sorts of cool stuff over the last week - if this side-effect keeps it up, I'd be okay with it. I love vivid dreams.

When I was a kid, I used to dream all the time. I had the best, most vivid dreams of adventures in great caverns and subterranean worlds. For a long time, I had a reoccurring dream in which a large hole opened up in my town and I was chosen to go down and explore it... I had this dream often. No idea what it means... but I always enjoyed it. 

My dreams were like that for most of my youth... all the way up until around 2000... when started drinking for a living. Well, not a living - but I associate 2000 as the year when drinking became an integral part of my identity. A friend even made a custom action figure of me that came with a small bottle in hand... so... yeah.

The drinking, it seems, causes my dreams to sort of... go away. I just sleep. Or at least I think so. It could be that drinking just causes me to immediately forget my dreams. Which, I guess, could happen. I'm not a shrink or a dream therapist so I don't rightly know. I just know that around 2000 is about the time when I stopped having regular, awesome dreams... and when I started to have more stress, more anger, more... everything. I had a few failed relationships around that time that really took a toll on me psychologically as well.

Then 9/11 happened and then I got sent to Iraq... and when I came home my dreams were no longer awesome in a different way. They straight-up sucked. Death. Fire. Explosions... and, believe it or not, those weren't the worst ones. The worst ones are the dreams where I'm in uniform again and everyone in my unit is shipping out and I can't go. I try to go... but I can't. And I wake up feeling like a failure for the day. I wake up feeling worthless and lacking as a human being. Those are the ones that fuck with you the most.

So I drink. When I drink, as I said above, the dreams go away. Or at least become less memorable?

And now - here I am struggling with cutting down on the alcohol consumption and living with this new reality of once again having good dreams. This is still very early on in the whole process, but I view it as a good thing. I view it as a possible 'return to the life I once led' kind of moment. One where I didn't stay up until 3am because I knew what sleep held for me - but rather going to bed early in the hopes of a fanciful flight of dreaming good dreams... 

I hope.

I hope that's the case. I hope I have good dreams. I hope I can go another 4 nights in row of sobriety. I hope I can dream about colorful adventures in the dream-version of Paris that I hold in my head. There is a large, cobblestone bridge that runs 3 miles across shining waters. It leads to old buildings stacked with food and books. To me, in my mind, it looks like something you'd see in the movie "Inception" and it's a recurring setting in some of my better dreams. Along with a dream-version of where I went to school and met Lady Bourbon... Those are the dreams I hope for. 

More often than not, however, dreams are more adult in nature. And, no, I don't mean sex and drugs. I mean stress. I mean work. I mean anxiety over the fucking pandemic... Those dreams can fuck RIGHT off. They are the bane of my existence and the re-introduction of good dreams into my life has been an amazing thing for my mental wellbeing. 

So... there is my update for now. Hope you are all well. 

Cheers. 

Reflections on Depression and Alcohol Abuse Part 1

I need to change things. But that's the same shit I've said before. It's the same shit most people above the age of 25 have said countless times as they inch closer to death and see their bodies and their lives move in a direction that, while inevitable, isn't what was wanted.

We all start out invincible in our early adult years. Nothing hurts us. We drink ourselves stupid, sleep 2 hours, and go to work the next morning with water, some Tylenol, and the promise to not drink like that again until next weekend.

As time goes by we start noticing small changes... an extra ache or pain in the knee or ankle. A shoulder that doesn't feel like it used to. We find ourselves asking, "what?" more often simply because we couldn't hear the other person... and then it hits us - we've reached the start of "Middle Aged." The thoughts of death creep in around the edges. You're no longer invincible. You sleep wrong and hurt for 4 days... And we all wake up and say "I need to change." "I need to diet." "I need to correct the path I'm on." "I need to X, Y, and Z." - And you wake up with heartburn or acid reflux wondering, "Is this a heart attack? Am I finally dying?"

And if you haven't hit this point yet - be thankful. If you have hit this point - you have my sympathy.

Now let us add to the mix that I drink. A lot.

Recently I began a personal crusade of sorts to attempt sobriety and make something better of myself. You may remember a similar failed attempt two years ago about wanting to get in shape... also failed. And why is that? Am I lazy? Probably. Am I afraid of failure? Most assuredly.

So - combine those traits, along with an unhealthy predisposition for alcohol abuse and TA DAA! Here we are. Sitting at the edge of my 43rd trip around the sun with an unhealthy amount of weight hanging off my body, a chronic level of dehydration, and probably a list of ailments waiting to happen... and I want to change... again or still. I want something better for myself or my family... but I'll be damned if I know how to do it.

In the last 2 months, I've had a 2-day streak of sobriety. More than once, but still. I can only seem to get about 2 days before the urge to drink creeps in and takes over. I say, "Oh, just one." Then I look down and realize I'm on my 4th and the bottle is almost empty. I am a high-functioning alcoholic with PTSD and depression - and sometimes I really hate that I am aware of this. It'd be better to be blissfully ignorant of this fact, but let's face it, it's pretty obvious. 

And I just want to change... 

Fuck, if I was a religious man, this would be where I break down and pray to Jesus, Buddha, Allah, and Vishnu to step in and make it all better.

If this was a Hallmark movie, I'd drink myself into a coma, wake up and have a heart-to-heart with the doctor/shrink/pastor and come home to a celebration of sobriety at the house with my friends and family... 

But I'm not religious and this isn't hallmark... and if I had friends, they'd be alcoholics too. Instead, I just get to whine on the internet and have long, introspective thoughts while I sit in the house waiting for the kids to go to bed so I can drink again before going to sleep and waking up for another day of the exact. same. fucking. thing.

I did the math... Lady Bourbon and I spent over $3,000 on alcohol in 2020. Granted it WAS 2020 and the drinking was a bit more liberal from March through July... but that still seems to be a lot.

So, yeah. There ya go. My first blog post in a while... the first of any writing I've done since February... I'm calling this "Part 1" because I plan of there being a series of these as I navigate the waters of being in my 40s and trying to not die from drinking myself to death.

I quit smoking overnight. Just put them down and have never looked back... I still want one from time to time, but that's not the same thing. It's easier to quit being at home with no other smokers in or around me... I assume drinking would be the same. But we like to drink. The friendships I DO have locally revolve around gathering and drinking... So, not the best group to go to for sobriety help. My family - HA! They are of the mindset of "Well, just stop." - They do not grasp addiction and mental health as well as you might think. And Lady Bourbon's family thinks that mental health is a dirty word developed by Satan to turn people away from Catholicism... 

I'm not really sure what I'm saying anymore. I've written more than I planned to today and I'm no better off than I was 2 hours and 5 failed starts ago... My kids are currently running wild through the house and I need to go reign them in... they're supposed to be folding laundry.

Farewell for now, internet. See you when I see you.

-Dr. B

Trouble With The Tradesman's Entrance

Saturday night found Lady Bourbon and me SANS CHILDREN!!

We sat and debated what to do for some time. We could go see Avengers and sit there for three hours - not a bad idea. We could go out to eat, have some drinks, and pretend to be regular adults for a while - also not a bad idea. OR we could get naked, watch some porn, and get a little freaky on the living room floor before going out for drinks and pretending we're adults... WINNER!!!!

Once the kids were safely gone and out of the house I retired to the shower, cleaned myself all over, and put on my sexy underwear - a black lace thing that makes my junk look HUGE... and my favorite skirt.

Then we moved some furniture, poured some drinks, and set back to get things going.

I'd already been sporting a pretty serious hard-on at the thought of not having kids... but now, as Lady Bourbon applied a nice, dark application of eyeliner on me, I was at "already ready to burst" levels. Me wearing eyeliner and black, lace panties has a rather curious effect on Lady Bourbon - and that is she gets SUPER wet. Like... Aquaman levels of wet.

And that shit is hot as FUCK.

As the show started we sat there, sipping or drinks and just "getting in the mood" as it were. Before long, her hand was slowly stroking me through the soft fabric of my skirt and silk... This had 2 results - 1: SO hot. 2: My panties no longer fit.... so they had to go.

She continued.

She wrapped my cock in the fabric of the skirt - it's soft, t-shirt material - and continued to gently stroke me up and down. Then I started rubbing her through her panties and stroking her nipples gently with my tongue from time to time. Our eyes both darting back and forth to the very lewd, very sexual animated porn on our television...

Lady Bourbon stood up, removed her skirt and panties, and returned to the couch next to me. She began rubbing her clit with her vibrator while still stroking me softly. It was amazing. After several minutes of this we moved to the floor, she flipped my loose skirt up, and climbed on top of me. She rode me and used her magic wand until she trembled with her first orgasm... I could feel her dripping down my balls when she finished. Which just made me want more...

There was head. There was rubbing, licking and touching... all the while moans of pleasure emanated from the television behind us.

Lady Bourbon took out the new toy... the blue, strapless-strap-on. She turned it on and a small gasp escaped her lips as the large, bulbous end disappeared between her legs. She stood, gloriously naked in front of me with a semi-realistic, vibrating cock... and I took her into my mouth and played with her lower half until she orgasmed for a second time.

Then it was my turn... and this is also where things got a little... hinky? Not kinky... hinky.

Turning me over, Lady Bourbon got behind me. Large quantities of lube were used... and her first attempt at "being on top."

Now, not being a life-long penis haver... the mechanics of what came next were a little awkward. Alignment, angle, positioning... She's not used to being an "outie" as it were. So there were some difficulties.

Not to mention the size of the thing - I was having some difficulties.

We decided to downsize things and go for Pinkie - the old standby toy... and after a few attempts and repositioning... she succeeded.

Let me just say this... There is something VERY intimate about this. About having your wife, your best friend, your lover, your everything... penetrate you and be in charge. There is something so... I'm not sure WHAT the word is exactly... but it was awesome. There is a difference in Fucking someone and letting someone FUCK you.... and that's what she did. It was awkward being everyone's first time and all - but oh so very sexy.

When that was done, she went down on me... then she rode me again... and in the end I came so hard I didn't want to move.

We kissed. We held each other.... we got a fucking towel and cleaned up the mess and we laughed.

After - we went to the bar and drank bourbon and Long Islands. We ate wings and chips and salsa. We went home and watched a shitty movie... and then we both slept with reckless abandon.

I love her. I love that she loves me. I love that we can try new things without fear or shame. I love that she gets turned on by me after 10 years, 2 kids, and a whole lot of life's bullshit. I love that she'll go out of her comfort zone to try new things with. I love that when she gets off, she gushes... I love that she loves making eye-contact when she gets and gives head. I love my best friend... and I love the way she loves me back.

Change in the House of Bourbon

It's been a minute since I last posted on the ole blog... so let's fucking do this thing.

Things have been a little different in the Bourbon household as of late. Lady Bourbon has taken on new work responsibilities that have drastically changed her schedule and the everyday flow in the house.

Which is fine. We still manage and everything flows...

But my day job revolves around scheduling and planning and while I can roll with things like the best of them - I am not taking to this as well as I'd hoped.

Ever seen the Bob's Burgers episode where his landlord, Mr. Fischoeder, wants to pretend Linda and the kids are HIS wife and kids on Thanksgiving? And it should go well, but Bob is the one stuck in the kitchen still working, getting drunk on Absinthe, and wanting things to be normal... but they just aren't?

Yeah... I'm Bob right now. Only without the Absinthe. And without alcohol... and without carbs... It's a lot of things changing all at the same time. And it's rough, man. Really rough.

While Lady Bourbon now gets to spend her afternoon with the kids, she is gone in the mornings. It's just me and the kids prior to school... and it's not a problem. I love the kids. But I miss the adult interaction before I have to go to work and deal with the morons there. So once I've dropped the kids off, I have nothing to do at home, so I've been coming into work early. 9-hour days with another 90 minutes in the car... then I come home to a late dinner at 7:00 in time to TRY to play with the kids when I'm in a decent enough mood to do so before they go to bed at 8 or 8:30.

She's also working at least one day every weekend now... which means it's just me and the kids again for most of the day...

I love my kids - please don't misunderstand - it's just that out of my entire week, I really only see or interact with my kids and people at work. I hate the people at work and love my kids. But I actually spend WAY more time with the people I hate and not the people I love. And the people I hate are so invasive to my life and mental well-being, they imprint so much anger on me and I am often unhappy when I get home. Debbie is really the least of my problems at work. She's an awful human being, but she's nothing compared to my super racist, homophobic GM, the owner who wants to micromanage everyone, and everyone else there with the mentality of a 12 year old... It's infuriating.

I am left with little or no time to decompress outside of my drive home... I have no alone time that isn't in the car to and from work. And my non-work adult interaction time is limited to a few meager hours at night before Lady Bourbon goes to bed before waking up at 5:30 the next morning for her new shift.

I guess I'm just really bitching and whining more than anything. Remember that post I made about wanting to just spend every day stuck in a loop? Well, I feel like I'm still stuck in that loop... but with less Lady Bourbon in it now and less opportunity for my own free time. And I sometimes feel like I am forgetting how to interact with adults.

So, instead of not having the time to have a social life... I now have less of one because Lady Bourbon is slightly less present in my day to day routine.

And it just sucks. Right now - it sucks to be me. And not in some emo bullshit way... I'm just so goddamn lonely. In a world full of people - I just feel fucking alone.

The Anxiety of Sleep

Sometimes dreams are awesome. Lady Bourbon is a hyper-vivid dreamer with all sorts of cool shit in her dreams... like Voltron. My dreams are not so cool.

It's been a long time since I've had "fun" dreams. My dreams over the last 10 years or so have all been, more or less, real life while I'm sleeping. Which, as you can imagine, sucks balls. And not in the fun "yeah baby, I like the way you do that" way. More of the "I accidentally fell on the vacuum hose and my balls are being sucked into oblivion and I think I'd rather be dead" kind of way.

Last night's dream though... Holy shit. That was a doozy.

I had a dream in which I was driving my car to the hospital. I called them on the phone to let them know I was coming and that I was having a stroke. In the mirror I could see my face slacken and go lifeless and I lost control of the car as I pulled into the hospital lot. Then I dreamed in 3rd person POV for a while and then back to being me as they tried to fix me. This involved them sticking some sort of needle-like probe into my ear and having fluid run through my brain and out the other ear.

It hurt.

And now... a serious(ish) post...

Alcohol... The sweet nectar of the gods...


I like drinking. It's an important aspect of my life. It's one of those things where I would do it all day, every day, if I wouldn't, you know, die in a month from dehydration and liver failure.

Not going to lie - I am a huge fan of bourbon, scotch, top-shelf tequila, rum, vodka, gin, bourbon again, and beer... But the problem is that alcohol is basically a 4th Macro in the grand "weight-loss" and "healthy" aspect of living and you can't really do "diet and exercise" if you're pissing it all away by drinking every night.

As far as calories go - per macro that is - you've got the following:

Protein: 4 calories per gram
Carbs: 4 calories per gram
Fat: 9 calories per gram
Alcohol: 7 calories per gram

So - you're looking at 64 calories per ounce roughly.

And you're thinking - well, fuck, that's not too bad. That's only 200 calories or so for a few drinks... And while true - here is the problem: Alcohol will interfere with the body's processing and burning of FAT...  Normally, the liver metabolizes fats, but you drink, alcohol takes preference. The liver breaks down alcohol for energy first, causing a build-up of fatty acids... Thus counteracting all that cool fat-loss stuff you've been working on and then fucking you up.

This makes me sad. Because there are few things better than coming home, having a drink, and chilling out on the couch with Lady Bourbon... and then, potentially, having sex.

But then I see things like this - Reddit User /u/Klamsykrawl gave up alcohol for a year... He lost 53 lbs and claims to feel better than he ever felt before.

And I'm all "Well, fuck, dude. That looks AMAZING! WHY CAN'T I DO THAT??!"

And the answer is: "Because you like drinking, dumbass." And then I'm all "Oh, right... duh."

So - I WANT to be all sexy for Lady Bourbon when we hit our 10th anniversary. I WANT to not die by the age of 45. I WANT to see my kids graduate high school and college... But I am a horrible person and I drink because I have PTSD and a fetish for alcohol. Okay, not a fetish, but a SERIOUS liking of the substance that make putting it down a "less than easy" thing to do for me. Lady Bourbon also likes drinking. And if she's going to watch tv and have a drink, there's not a chance in HELL I can sit there and NOT drink.

But... I am going to try. I am going to try to get back to my post-army days where Lady Bourbon would look at me and start thinking about doing horribly awesome things to my semi-well-sculpted body. It's still sculpted... but it seems that it's sculpted out of Play-Doh these days.

I'm going to get me one of those fancy calorie counter apps, stop drinking my weight in bourbon, eat more sushi, drink more water, have more sex, and do the thing! Or so I am telling myself.

Wish me luck. I suck at following through on long, life-changing ideologies. Last time I did this was when I ran a spartan race. I lost a ton of weight, got super sexy, ran the race... then rediscovered pizza. And, well, here we are. What? I fucking love pizza.

That's it. I'm off to eat vegetables and chicken! I'm going to spend my days asking "WHAT THE FUCK IS A MACRO AND WHY DO I CARE?!?!" I'm going to go from being 6'1"/240 lbs to being 6'1"/and hopefully around 215 lbs? I think that's a good goal. That would put me in the "oh jesus, I want to fuck that guy" category I think...

We shall see.

Check back in like... I don't know... 6 months?

Date Night... or "How I stopped worrying and learned to love pre-dinner sex"

That's right... I'm 40. I feel old. My body aches and makes noises on its own... I'm not 90... and I'm sure 90 year olds have and love sex too. This isn't a knock on age. I'm not an ageist. I have friends who are aged.

Wait, what?

Right...

I LOVE 2 things... Sex and food. Well, technically I love a lot of things... but I REALLY love sex and food. Not sex WITH food. But eating and getting my fuck on. The problem is - I'm not 20 anymore. Hell, I'm not even 30 anymore. I'm borderline old and not getting any younger. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to eat - both food and Lady Bourbon... But...

There's always a but. And that "but" is that sex is awesome... food is awesome... but sometimes too much food BEFORE sex is NOT awesome.

Let me just lay it out for you.

Anxiety - A Guest Post by Lady Bourbon

We're back with another amazing guest author post... 

Today's Guest post doesn't need an introduction... I've done that already here.

ANXIETY

A Guest Post by Lady Bourbon

It was a dark and stormy night...

Actually, no, it wasn't. It was beautiful, sunny, and unseasonably warm for October. It was only dark and stormy inside my head, but the whole world might as well have been covered in in darkness as far as I was concerned at the moment.

So, I'm standing there, in my kitchen, trying to find the will to walk out my door and go to the sarlaac pit I call work. I was staring out the window at the garage. I was alone. The kids were at school and Bourbon was at work. I thought, maaaaaaaybe I could just... quit.


Not my job... My life.


No more work. No more overbearing mom. No more fear that every tiny thing I do is being judged and picked apart. No more feeling like a failure. That sounded pretty damn nice. Then, my mind wandered... as my mind is wont to do. I thought about ways to achieve this state of restful bliss.

That's me in the corner...

I'm in a bit of a funk these days. And not the normal, anxiety-induced, worrisome funk... but more of an "I'm feeling old, worthless, and in a shitty time loop" kinda funk. Being February, I feel it's very much Groundhogs day. Every day. I am Bill Murray, but without the option of dropping the toaster into my bathtub.

We've all seen Groundhogs Day, right? The guy wakes up and every day it's the same day over and over and over and over again... Same premise-ish as Happy Death Day and Russian Doll on Netflix. The difference is, these people have the same day over and over, but with no consequences of the actions they choose every day. Want to end a bad day by driving off a bridge with an angry groundhog? NO PROBLEM! Want to drop a toaster in your bathtub due to the extreme amount of stress and seeming worthlessness of life? See you in the morning!

I feel this movie has left me wanting.

Every day for me is like this. But without an out. The closest I have to a re-set is alcohol. I can at least drink myself into a deep sleep that, somewhat, gives me a fresh start the next day by wiping the mental slate clean.

It sucks. I'm sorry. There's no better way to put it. It. Sucks.

Why I don't like "Porn"

Okay - disclaimer - I love porn. I love watching naked people fuck. That shit is hot as Hell. But........

What I hate is the Porn industry and the fucking ridiculousness of porno.

Why must we make silly porn with terrible plots and stories?

"Hi, I'm here to... clean some pipe."
"Oh, my. Well, let me just bend over, in the nude, and pick up this giant dildo I dropped."
"Mind if I stick it in your butt?"
"Oh by all means! Let me call my cousin so she can come lick your balls while you do it."

I mean... COME ON.

Why can't we just make a decent movie with realistic fucking? If I'm ever in a situation where I was with someone who started talking to me the way do in a porn... I'd probably just laugh at them and the sex would be over. Thankfully, I can hit mute if/when I ever need to watch stuff. Gifs... gifs are where it's at for me in the porn industry. No sound. Short, repeating clips of people having some crazy-good sex.

I think this is why I like Hentai... And no, not the incest/rape hentai (well, MOSTLY not those)... but the stuff like Fuzzy Lips or Kanojo x Kanojo x Kanojo, Bible Black, Giant tentacle monster sex god from outer space. You know, people doing stuff and then having crazy sex with WAY too many bodily fluids. But I like it.

And there's no "Oh yeah, fuck my asshole, daddy"... that's just a mood killer for me. And there's no completely shaved dude who goes to the gym looking all stoic and shit going "yeah... yeah... I'm gonna fuck that ass. Yeah..." - WHO DOES THIS IN REAL LIFE?!?!?

And to make it worse - the unrealistic plastic surgery plaguing porn stars is distracting. I mean... like in a big way. You were clearly not born a 49DD... those look like they're about to pop. And why is every man is shaved from the neck down?? I'm no fan of chest hair, and I understand that it makes your junk look bigger... but I'm having trouble suspending my disbelief here, man.

The icing on the cake is the moaning and sound effects the women make... Are you having sex or are you laying down backup tracks for some dubstep?!?

I get it... this stuff is supposed to be far-fetched and whatnot, but I just can't do it. I can watch gifs and muted clips... but Pornos are, in my opinion, a joke.

You want hot sex? Make it look real. Find real people who look NORMAL. Sex isn't a 90 minute run for most people... shit, for most 20 minutes is considered too long.

So... sorry, Porn industry... I am not a fan. I'll stick with Erotica, Hentai, and my wife's underwear drawer.

PEACE OUT!

The Nap - A @BourbonSex Erotic Short Story

The Nap

A @BourbonSex original Erotic Short Story

The window stood open and the gentle scent of summer floated in as they lounged lazily in the living room. Stirring from her rest, she looked on and watched his chest rise and fall on the opposite end of the couch. He slept peacefully, for once, and she found her eyes drinking him in. She liked watching him when he was like this and a playful smile formed on her lips. He seemed happy and at rest. His shirtless chest moved as he readjusted his position and the smile manifested on his lips and his closed eyes moved as he dreamed. Gently she ran her hand over his shorts and she smiled.

If he was dreaming, she was going to try to influence those dreams.

Soft, slow touches to the outside of his shorts and his breathing changed ever so slightly. Another whisper of a touch against the fabric of his mesh shorts and she felt him stiffen slightly. She stopped touching and watched as his shorts shifted and changed as his dreams changed and the blood began to flow to his cock. She laughed despite herself at the sight. It looked like a snake manifesting itself out of thin air under the fabric of his clothes. As she watched and smiled, she felt a stirring within her. It started as a warm flush, almost a flutter in her chest. The warmth spread from her chest, down the length of her stomach were it radiated warmth between her legs. Her face became flushed as she realized, too late, that in trying to manipulate her lover's dreams, she was becoming increasingly turned on.

The blog post about blogging on my blog that nobody blogs

WTF is blogging?  I mean - what is it REALLY?

For some, it's basically their own personal forum for discussing ideas, products, services, bad ideas, and politics - while getting paid for it.

For the rest of us, it's basically an online diary for late-night missives about how we're lonely, depressed, horny, hungry, angry, or some other inane thing. And that's pretty okay.

We can't all be paid to whine online. JESUS I wish I was. I could just sit back, spout off about whatever the fuck I wanted and then just get paid for it! It would be GLORIOUS.  But... nobody reads this blog. I mean, at the height of its existence, I got 22 page views one day.

I'm not going to retire on 22 page views. Fuck, I can't even get a piece of gum for that.

What Dreams May Never Come...

Earlier today I posted a list to my Twitter Feed about the things I've wanted to do but fell short of...

These have been my half-assed dreams as an adult. Things I was 100% passionate about for a week or so until I realized I didn't have the time or money to commit to any of them. They are my dead dreams... for now. I will now go into detail on these dreams and why they've all died....

There are many anxieties... but this one is mine.

Stress, anxiety... whatever the fuck you want to call it - SUCKS.

I have catastrophobia... which I'm not even sure is a real word. But it is pretty bad at times. I can't say exactly when it started, but I do know it has gotten progressively worse as I've aged.

This isn't the "Oh, I think the world will end" type of fear - well, not always at any rate... This is the fear that if I go, relax, let my guard down, and do something - the worst case scenario will occur. No matter what it is... ESPECIALLY if that thing is something for my own enjoyment or personal well-being. How fucked is that?

Mental Health Day...

Yesterday was the 2018 National Mental Health Day... and I took the day off of work for Mental Health Reasons.


Well, that, and to spend time with my wife and kids.

The irony being - calling in fake-sick to work... gave me a fucking panic attack. I suffer from PTSD. Sometimes horribly so. And yesterday, while having a good time out with my wife and kids - I had a little bit of a freak out.

When I do things like call in sick when I'm not, or give my kids off to my parents to go do something for myself, I get horrible guilt. This guilt compounds over time and causes anxiety. The anxiety builds up and then BAM! I get a full blown panic attack all because I wanted to take time for myself. And this is killing me...

So, as my day went on, we were having fun and I went into the local bookstore to look for some good books. This store is about as big as my living room and is floor-to-ceiling books. They have shelves everywhere and it's a narrow, confined space with no circulation, no sound, and it's hot. I... already starting to stress out from being home... started to get really uncomfortable in this place. My ears were ringing, I couldn't catch my breath, I felt like the books were going to collapse on me and kill me... it was a good time.*

When we got home I was drenched in panic-sweat and my heart felt like it was trying to beat out of my chest. So I went upstairs, turned the lights off, and curled up with the cat for 2 hours and tried to calm down. It helped a little, but not much.

Mental Health is no joke. And we all need to take care of ourselves. BUT... how can I do this when taking time to myself actually CAUSES me anxiety??  I can't stand my fucking job and it is, literally, killing me with its stress and bullshit.

What I'd like to do is sit back, smoke a shitload of weed, and try to relax... but I can't. I'm desperately trying to find a job closer to home and they all still test. I'd LIKE to find some sort of medication that helps, but the last one they put me of turned me into a fucking paranoid monster.  Seriously - that shit was awful. My wife and I both agreed it was better for me to be the way I am than the paranoid, weirdo that the pills caused... I would wake up in the middle of the night, wide awake, worried about the most ridiculous shit. I was suspicious of everyone and everything - including my wife which was a big red flag... I've been off of that shit for a few months now and things are MUCH better.

It sucks.

It all fucking sucks. 

I drink more now than I ever have in my life... which is saying something when you look at my
twenties. But it's sometimes the only way I can shut my brain off long enough to get some sleep. Then the problem arises that drinking causes dehydration and dehydration causes high blood pressure and high blood pressure helps to cause the anxiety. It's a vicious fucking circle of bullshit. But drinking seems to be the one and only option to my since our country has a hard-on for calling mental illness a weakness and shunning people... and then we destroy our healthcare in the name of political theater...

Then - to make it better - I try to explain to my boss that "sometimes I just need a minute to process some shit. I'll be fine, just let me calm down." And she - being one of those people who has done everything you've done, only better, and has advice about fucking EVERYTHING tries to belittle my PTSD with "Well, when my dad died I had some PTSD, but coming to work really helped get me back on track."

REALLY?

FUCKING REALLY???

You're DAD was sick for six years and his death was not sudden. While I, in no way, doubt that it was traumatic... It's not the same thing to be in your fifties and losing a parent as it is to have been in my twenties and watching people fucking burn to death in Iraq. Sorry. It's not a contest... but if it was, FUCK YOU.


AH - damnit. Now I'm all pissed off and forgot where I was going with this...

Take care of yourself, people. I mean - really TRY and take care of yourself. Take time for YOU. Take time for your loved ones... and Don't let all of the bullshit in the world weigh you down and pull you under.


*It was not, in fact, a good time at all...