Thats a sobering thought.

Is the stereo still on? I hear it playing back in the bedroom. Sounds far away. But only because it's fighting the sitcom playing on TV. I try to tune out the show to hear what song is playing but I'm too far into the stupor to guess. Not that it matters. Trebek isn't eyeballing me for the "who is yada yada yada." I really want to turn that damn stereo off. I want it off because it feels like a waste. Like a band playing in a packed bar, but no one cares, no one pays attention, and no one notices. But the house feels quiet already. Too quiet. Sitting in silence makes me shudder and sends goosebumps running up my arms and down my back. I wonder if I play NPR or some talk show, it'll fill the void that dampens the air I breathe. I sit forward and pour another slosh of Johnny Red. Two fingers should do it. I'd been capping my pours to that volume all night. One more finger. It'll save me a trip of sitting forward. Yeah... that makes sense. I suddenly realize that I'm the adult version of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. Except I don't have a family of 30 over for the holidays. Nor is Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern out lurking anywhere trying to steal my shit. But they may want Johnny. I should probably grab him and hold him closer in case someone tries to break in. I grab the bottle by the neck and jam it between me and the side of the couch. I feel good about this... the bottle is safe, and I'm too numb if someone attacks me. I should get a snack. How long has it been since I've eaten? I refill my glass, now that the bottle and I have become intimate... I dispense with the trivialities of etiquette. I turn the volume up on the TV a tad. I don't want to hear myself think anymore. A sobering thought dribbles down my whiskey glass as I realize I'm tired of this routine. I'm tired. I'm tired of being tired and it all comes from being alone. How am I still alone? Why am I alone? What kind of person have I become? Or worse... have I always been a dick? Why don't I have any answers to these questions?!? I shouldn't be drinking this much. I don't need to be drinking this much. I walk into the kitchen to find something to snack on. I swallow whats left in the glass, set it next to a bottle of whiskey on the counter that I forgot was already open. I rummage through the pantry, cupboards, and refrigerator seeking culinary inspiration. I settle on a mozzarella cheese stick. I know that I need to change. I need to make changes. But first, I'm going to pour a liberal amount of whiskey from this bottle for a tasters choice. We'll even drop a couple of ice cubes in it to ensure I'm staying hydrated.