A Bottle for My Sanity (Or How I'm Deeply Contemplating if I'm an Alcoholic)

I miss getting drunk, like puke-everywhere drunk -- not because I'm sad or depressed (although I think I am). But that's not the point. I want to get piss drunk again because I miss the elated confidence it brings. Is that a disorder? I don't know. Am I turning into an alcoholic? At 25? I don't know. Do I like myself better when I'm drunk? Perhaps. Because I am happier, spontaneous, and open -- with a devil-may-care attitude. I guess that, in its happy, twisted sense, is a form alcohol dependency.

The obliging Merriam-Webster website defined alcoholism as

a medical condition in which someone frequently drinks too much alcohol and becomes unable to live a normal and healthy life

Me? Unlikely. One of the major factors why I can never be an alcoholic is because I don't have the extra cash to buy alcohol (to my heart's content) at the present. But, does craving for it when facing problems count? I might be overthinking this again. Yes, I tend to do that. Maybe this reflection is just my irresponsible brain's way of procrastinating. See, I'm writing this at 2 p.m. On a Tuesday. On my office computer. 

I can almost hear its sly voice. Yea, go on. Write a damn blog post, and leave your press release drafts for tomorrow. What's wrong with being a mediocre writer anyway? Your bosses won't kill you. They might fire you, but hell, whatever, right?

Ugh.

Where was I? 

Oh, forget it.