It takes a bag to kick an alcoholic's ass

8:00 pm: Getting hammered is a ritual for me like my mother’s ritual is to wake me up every morning. So here I am bar hopping on a Sunday night.

2:00 am: And car hopping. After midnight they don’t serve you alcohol in this city.

2: 30 am: I see the seventh floor on the lift buttons. And all I wanna do is press all the buttons except that.

8:00 am: It is Monday; way too bluer than blue, hanging over my head, grinding teeth at me. Getting up was like an award winning effort.

8:35 am: Mother’s sweet voice did not reach me. Nor my alarm rang in my sheet, draped in sleep. I had lost my phone and my senses, last night.

9:35 am: Breakfast had a special menu; a bowl full of sorrow and a tall glass of curses. Mother was silent. But when she broke it, her words made me wanna take a fork to my mouth and quickly shove it down my throat ‘cause I would rather choke than argue with her for even a second.

9:45 am: I managed to snake my way out of home. I work like it’s a duty and party like it’s my business.

4:30 pm: At work, I spent the day like watching a film reel that cut into another film reel and another and another and the images spin by before I could make any sense of them. There seemed no way to get to the beginning, even if there was one. Sure as hell, I was in hangover.

6:45 pm: My girlfriend was silent like an ocean before a huge tide. And I sat in the car, trapped like a useless rock on the beach side.

6:50 pm: Her eyes deep in which I could not dare to look into. The tide was almost there, in some distant part of hers but did not come up front.

6:55 pm: She is an avid reader. Wish she read my thoughts and knew how apologetic they were.

6:56 pm: Love is a mental disease. 

8:30 pm: If old habits die hard, then bad habits die harder. On my way home, I swallowed some beer to stop my hands from shaking and to face the people at home. It makes me feel brave enough to make promises.

9:30 pm: I parked my car next to the park where my mother strolls around every evening. The park was empty, the building was dim, only dressed in white noise.

9:43 pm: Climbing up to my floor never felt so heavy before. I reached my house to find a trolley bag sitting in front of the door.

9:44pm: Maybe there will be no arguments, no questions, no answers, no promises, no time to even break them. It’s only time for me to fuck off. This bag looked a lot like my only belonging for the next few weeks or years.

9:50 pm: Almost choking on the ashes of the burnt cities in my throat, I rang the door bell. Several parts of me had started to pack stuff and were ready to leave.

9:51 pm: mother opened the door for me.

9:55 pm: father asked about my day with nothing but a father like smile on his face.

10:00 pm: The place felt like home and I like the shy kid of the house.

10:00 am: The bag maker was happy to get a job after several days.  The bag was happy to get the fixing done after ages.