I am not a math person. I can barely spell the word statistics. That being said, I want to talk about math, more specifically about probs and stats.
I've been drinking in earnest since I was 17-years-old. Right now I'm 25. That gives me eight solid years of boozing not counting an admittedly regrettable malt liquor phase of my early adolescence. Given that, I can comfortably admit that I'm nowhere near the level of the greats. You know who I'm talking about: Bukowski, Hemingway, Bogart, Andre the Giant... I could go on... But I have no doubt that I'll get there.
Before you stop reading with cries of hubris, let me explain. Like I said, I'm not a math person but I firmly believe the odds are on my side.
I once had a boss, let's call him "Kevin," who thought the only thing of value I had was my undrunk, productive life. My working life. In fact, he went so far as to claim my non-sober life, my less productive side, took away from my more important, meaningful (read: non-drunk) life.
But then it occurred to me, I hate my job. In fact, the only thing that I looked forward to the entire working day was getting off work and having that first (but certainly not last) drink of the day.
I know what you're thinking, why didn't I just drink on the job? The answer is simple: I much prefer a clean division of labor in my life. What I hate (my job) pays for what I love (my drinks) and my drinks help me forget my job. I pray to whatever God is out there that the two never meet because my world might actually end.
Let's do the math.
In a given work week I pull your standard nine to five or 40 hours a week. That's eight hour days for five days. For the majority of this, let's say ninety-percent, I'm miserable (I reserve the other ten-percent for times I'm eating, pissing, shitting or masturbating on company time). Still, ninety-percent of those forty hours suck.
I make it a point to get at least four hours of sleep a night so in a given 24 hour period I get at least 12 hours to myself. I'm not counting weekends because that's 48 hours I like to refer to as “all bets are off.”
Anyway, ninety-percent of my 12 hours are a good time. All the things I normally abhor during the previous eight hours, i.e., social interaction, not eating, not shitting, not pissing, etc... I down right enjoy while drinking. You could be the lousiest bastard on the planet, e.g., "Kevin," but I'm still inclined to think you're an alright sonofabitch after a couple of cocktails.
That's not to say there aren't bad times. Trust me, there are. I've caused harm (either physical or emotional) to myself and/or others while drinking and that's not good. But that's what the other ten-percent covers, all the bad times. But almost all the time I'm drinking, which is more time than I spend not, and thus, has a greater chance of failing, doesn't. It almost always works out for me. Conversely, my undrunk life almost never works out for me. I'm almost always pissed off or miserable or some combination of the two.
The bottom line is this, the odds are stacked in my favor anytime I drink and being undrunk is nothing more than a statistical crap shoot.
Webster defines success as, “favorable or desired outcome," the exact kind of thing my undrunk life is supposed to help me attain but doesn't.
So I guess my point is actually a question.
"Kevin" why the hell am I supposed to quit drinking again?
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