Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Commitment to booze

I caught an advance performance of the Williams Lake Studio Theatre's production of "Educating Rita" last night (technically their dress rehearsal, but it was a solid show), and wrote a positive review of the show for the paper this week. The performances were good, the stage was spectacularly designed, and the lighting did its job of subtly moving us through the transitions from scene to scene.

But one thing I noticed -- and this was just a personal observation -- that didn't make its way into my review was just how jealous I was of Frank's character in the play. Specifically, how jealous I was of his commitment to booze.

Here was a man who was downing glasses of scotch even while working with his student. A man who planned to head off to the pub after the teaching session for a few pints of Guinness, hopefully to elevate his scotch-buzz to something greater. A man who stumbled his way through a lesson while completely shitfaced.

I'm totally jealous of that commitment.

Because if you're going to do something, seriously, do it all the way.

I sometimes feel like I'm not committed enough to my attempts at self-destructive drinking. I've never down even an ounce in the morning in order to clear out the shakes. I've never turned to booze to get me through my workday, and I've sure never gone to work shitfaced.

All of these should seem like positive things, and they would be, if I was just firmly on the other side of the fence -- the side where people drink socially, with a comfortable frequency, and without bordering on a problem zone. But I'm not comfortable on that side of the fence. I'm sitting right on top of the fence, more than happy to drink enough to be well outside of the social category, but unwilling to take the dive to the *other* side of the fence.

Unwilling to do it all the way.

Unwilling to commit.

A funny thing to complain about, to be sure, and I can't even say it's really a complaint. If anything, it's merely an observation of my own lifestyle, and my own limitations. And my unwillingness to really dive headlong into my own attempts at self-destruction.

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