By Jack Erdmann
To a newly sober individual, the area could be a scary position. attractive messages approximately alcohol, cigarettes, intercourse, and extra threaten newfound sobriety, whereas chemical comforts now not supply a well-known break out path. In his sequel to his acclaimed autobiography Whiskey's teenagers, Jack Erdmann bargains a hauntingly sincere account of his first days of sobriety. A Bar on each nook offers very important navigational bearings for secure passage throughout the dangers of early restoration.
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Additional info for A Bar On Every Corner: Sobering Up in a Tempting World
Okay, I’m thinking these thoughts in my head and my head is what got me here. “Here” is a bad thing (misery, rubble, and fear) and a good thing (the occasional calm, the graceful emptiness). I think perhaps that I need the decision as a reminder that my head is untrustworthy—my head is a crumpled-up sheet of newspaper with bits of pictures and steeply angled bits of headlines. My head gets out of bed with the rest of me and looks around hopefully for a fearless place to rest while awake. Maybe I’m not reliable enough to make decisions, but maybe the saying I have to tell myself is a sort of control, a sort of regulating tick-tock in the distance.
I’ve got to feel like I’ve done something. This morning they all said good-bye to me. I stood on the porch at Duffy’s and Ali brought her big blue convertible around to the steps. Duffy’s has a big, curved drive to the main building. There are ﬁve cypresses planted in a tight circle in the middle of the front grounds. Ali sat there waiting for me. She’s a ﬁne woman. She helped me through the worst of the horrors. I was very conscious about her body. When I’d watch her walking down the hall in front of me, I’d want to catch up to her, put my hands around her waist, and pull her back into me.
I look at it and think of having a woman to share it, someone I can feel next to me in the dark, under the covers. Women share beds for a reason. I don’t think I’m going to ﬁnd a woman who just wants to keep warm. It’s a big Salvation Army store and I look down the long aisle at a casual, long-haired woman in jeans. It’s not that she doesn’t look good to me; it’s just that my genitals have been erased. This is what it’s like to be a horny old man. I’m sure of it. It’s all in the head. You feel like you should be able to do something, but you know you can’t.