But by the time 6 o’clock in the evening rolls around, I can hardly wait to buy that first beer. And half-way through the first 40, all of my anxieties and worries have magically disappeared. And by the time I’m into that second 40, I’m starting to feel that soaring sense of freedom and joy that comes from Not Giving A Flying Fuck.
This might sound like rationalizing. But I kind of agree with Bukowski. He often wrote quite graphically about the harsh affects of his alcoholism. But he always maintained to the end that booze saved his life. That without the buzz, the release and the temporary respite from his demons that he got from alcohol, he would have killed himself a long time ago.
It’s 3 o’clock in the afternoon right now. Three more hours until 6 o’clock . . .