Tag Archives: alcohol dream

In Which a Whiskey Dream Kicks My Ass

I had my first alcohol dream last night. Holy shit, it was weird. I dreamt that one of my friends, a very artistic person, was in town promoting something. I got together with him, and there was a bottle of some kind of great Irish whiskey in the hotel room. We started drinking. Dream shifts to the next day. N (the friend) was in front of a group talking, I was feeling hungover, although not really horribly so. I more remember thinking that I had to start over, the days I had in sobriety were gone gone gone, but I couldn’t tell anybody else outside this room that. I had to keep pretending, but N would know, so whenever I was talking to him, (because he knew I was in AA and this was a fuck-up for me), I would have to remember one number and whenever I was talking to other people, I’d have to remember another number. The complicated life of lying was already beginning to creep up on me. He went on talking about the great bottle we’d had. “Well, we got down to about here,” he said pointing at the bottle, about halfway down it, “and then I think I went to sleep, or passed out,” alughter from the audience, “and then somehow the bottle went from here,” pointing a little lower, “to here,” little lower,” to about gone,” shakes the bottle, “nope, gone.” “Yep, that was me,” acknowledging with a sheepish smile and wave at the room.

Dream shifts. In treatment again. This time the full 30, and I’m about 21 days in, the length of the last stay. There was something else in that dream. Something about talking with another face I knew and remember about the time. In the dream, I still felt the weight of having fucked up and the weight of what in the dream were necessary lies. But the exact content of the conversation there has slipped my mind.

I woke up. Shifting immediately into the day, working a bad kink out of my neck, and thinking about coffee and shower. Then the dream catches up to me. I have to sit down. Oh shit. Oh no no no no. Not real, right? Well, at least it wasn’t real. I think in the background context of my transition to a state of full waking existence, I may actually have been taking for granted that it was real, and I was just going to have to move about my day with that as something real.

Definitely rethinking this whole remembering dreams desire. That was horrible.


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