My brother keeps asking me if I’ve gone to any wild parties whilst being away at college, any wild parties I failed to discuss with my parents or my blog because they’re too… wild. Every time, I snort and ask him if he remembers who he’s talking to. He shrugs and asks me again a week later.
It’s the truth, though. I wouldn’t even know how to go about finding a party, let alone knowing what to do if I ever found myself at one. Because I don’t even act naturally at birthday parties. I’m not a party person in any sense of the word. Too many people at one time.
I don’t understand the mentality of partying. I just don’t. The few sips of my parent’s beers or wines on special occasions always leave me with a bitter taste on my tongue and no further inclination to binge drink. I’ve heard friends’ stories about what they’ve done drunk. Woken up wearing someone else’s underwear. Drunk dialed/texted crushes. Threw up all over someone. Cried uncontrollably. I don’t know about you, but that sounds awful to me.
People say they drink to forget. Refer to my blog on Friday. I forget things constantly, no alcohol required.
People also say they drink to let go. Let go of what? Your dignity? Start a blog. Stress? That’s what journals and punching bags are for. Or you could start a blog. Blogging seems to be a good swap for liver disease to me.
The reason I don’t drink is because I’m already out of control enough with my normal demeanor. Adding alcohol or mind screwing drugs sound like terrible ideas. I don’t party for the same reason I didn’t want to take Prozac; I want to be as in control as possible of myself. Sporadic vomiting? No thanks.
I relax through YouTube, blogging, and denial. Those may not be the healthiest of vices, especially the latter, but can you argue it’s worse than alcohol? If you can, please, enlighten me.
