Like a lot of alcoholics I often don’t have the sharpest recollections of what I did the night before. So often, the next morning, it’s like I piece it together by returning to the scene of the crime and searching for clues. For instance:
As I was walking down the hill from my campsite I spotted my discarded beer cup lying on the ground. “Oh right. That’s where I was sitting and drinking my last beer of the evening around 1AM and talking about how my beer gut makes it tough to button the top button of my trousers.”
And then farther down the road: “Oh there’s my 6-pack of beer over there, stashed in the bushes, I hid it there because I didn’t want to carry it all the way up to my campsite.”
And then further down the road: “There’s my jacket draped against that park bench and my headphones lying on the ground. I remember getting rousted by that cop around midnight and I had to pack up in a hurry and accidentally left them there.”
And so on. As I piece together what I did the night before.
And of course my trail of late-might drunken Facebook posts are often awaiting me like an unhappy surprise to be faced in the cold harsh light of morning sobriety.