I busted my left shoulder recently and had to wear a sling for awhile. Blame it on two pints of beer at four-thirty in the afternoon in a nearby town. I made it to the bus in time, travelled for about half an hour and then fumbled for the keys to my suite. That”s when it hit me like a runaway semi. I rocketed back, hit something solid and banged myself up fairly good.
This, regrettably, is not my first experience in which alcohol and injury has been combined. I have always had a glass jaw for the stuff.
During my youth I worked for several years as an all-nite DJ at a country music station and over a period of time acquired a fanbase of local musicians. Those guys could drink what seemed to be gallons of the stuff and still behave themselves.I tried to keep up, only to land face down on the floor. (Ever get carpet burns on your forehead?)
Folks who visited my place were always surprised that there was no beer in my fridge. Truth is, I didn’t like to drink alone. But as has become an all too familiar story, I drank in social situations in order to cope.
I haven’t been consuming alcohol on a regular basis in the last few years. In fact, outside of meeting a buddy at the pub once in awhile, I don’t drink booze or smoke weed (a habit I managed to kick a number of years ago.)
But. apparently, it doesn’t take much.
So, anyway, that’s the name of that tune. Hopefully, I can stick to non-alcoholic beverages from now on — and write in this blog a little more often.