Internal Sobriety Monologue #2

Dude, this fucking sucks.

You made this bed. Or unmade it. Whatever. You should make your actual bed.

Everyone is drinking here but me.

Do you remember what happened last time you drank here?

Let’s not go there.

You smoked weed, put the wrong end of a cigar in your mouth, said existentialism was immature, and announced to everyone that you’d only come to town to fuck your brother’s roommate, who had brought a very nice girl over as a date. She was sitting next to him when you said this.

I had just had a bad breakup, okay?

She acted weird when I brought up Italo Calvino.

That’s because she was Italian.

Right.

Well I hadn’t read any other Italian authors at the time.

I never actually even finished If on a winter’s night a traveler.

This does suck, though.

And what the fuck am I supposed to do with my hands?

Smoke?

And my other hand?

Play with your lighter. Fold a napkin into eighths and rip it up.

I’ve already ripped up a lot of napkins tonight.

Maybe I shouldn’t have announced on Instagram that I was sober.

Accountability is good.

Everyone looks so happy and drunk.

Someone will eventually cry or throw up in the sink. Just be grateful it’s not you tonight.


Isabel Rae McKenzie is a devout Chicagoan and newly sober person, but she’s still living her best chaotic Virgo life. You can find her on Twitter at @birdpoems.

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