The whole night, I just kept thinking how much I wanted a god damn drink. I have performed at plenty of events where I stayed stone-cold sober and was fine, but that night, between the boring poets, and the lack of audience enthusiasm when it came to my poems, and the awkward interactions, I wanted a fucking drink. I kept thinking about how, back in the day, I always took a flask with me to poetry readings, and I wished I had one that night, cuz then I could’ve snuck sips in the bathroom. There were several times I contemplated going out to chug a beer in the parking lot. I didn’t, just bided my time until the event ended, said goodbye to my friends, and split.
When I left, it was snowing, and “Straight to Hell” was playing on the radio. Clear as winter ice. This is your paradise…
[from a journal entry, 1/21/24]
