Loss brings many emotions and even more actions. Depression alone can manifest itself in a nearly complete Hunter S. Thompson novel. In my case, I didn't sink into the drugs like Raoul Duke en route to a desert motorcycle race. Maybe I would have done so had I known where the heck to buy them. I mean, there's a lot of drunks around Junebug Holler, but those other drugs are mostly something done by someone else somewhere else (unless you mean stuff like caffeine, nicotine, prescription opiates, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, and various ED remedies).
So, I took to White Russians and Stingers depending on the state of my liquor cabinet. On those truly desperate nights, it was straight tequila. Cuervo Gold. I blame it on Steely Dan. The one indulgence that differed considerably from those of my fellow Holler citizens was a powerful Kava tea made from root imported directly from the island of Vanuatu. Good stuff. Do not mix with alcohol.
As you may have already deduced, while such behavior might result from loss, it does nothing to get one beyond it. In fact, the booze just led me down the dark path to an even deeper hell. Sure, there would occasionally be a party or slot machine along that path, but it led to hell nonetheless.
More soon,
Stevie Joe Parker
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