As I drove to my chiropractor a driver next to be appeared to be changing lanes into me. I honked. They didn’t move, still 10 to 15 percent in my lane, they just stayed in that position. A block later they would suddenly veer left into a parking lot to execute a left-handed gas station red light cut-off, narrowly missing a car in the lane they veered across.
The freedom to drive like you don’t care what happens, to live not caring what happens…that’s what alcohol gives people, what normies get to continue to enjoy in small, responsibly-guardrailed or supervised settings, but alcoholics must remember, relive, or recreate in their histories, stories, or sex lives. Part of what unites alcoholics is that knowledge of what happens when those guardrails of caring come off, and for most of us the guardrails are only partially reconstructed and we continue to drive as if no-one has a deductible, as if we live in a moneyless society where bad behavior isn’t punished with police reports and insurance claims.
I’ve lost my wallet today. I can’t remember the last time I lost or even misplaced my wallet. As I was leaving work for said chiropractor appointment I realized it wasn’t in the right-front pocket where it lives every day, all day. I have no idea where it is, or how it got there. It could be on the floor somewhere. Someone might have picked it up. It could be somewhere I set it, although I doubt that, although if I did set it down and promptly forgot about having taken said action, it would confirm my suspicions that I am experiencing some early-onset brain malfunction.
I need to not care.