Here I find myself trying to calm down and breathe easy as the alcohol comes back on me, in the wrong way (definitely not what I looked forward to), bringing me to my feet in a snarling rage, by myself, but talking to a nemesis seen in my drink tuned head, warning him that he doesn’t want to get near me. I picture myself in a jail holding cell, and I have gotten into some difficulty with another guy in the large group, and I am crazy mad and warning him off, threatening this person (though I have no face for him), surprising him and the others, a psycho flaring up …

And I come to myself in my bedroom, rigid with this performance, every muscle tight, my fists clenched, realizing immediately that I had swung the other way on those vodka shots; I had, in a very short time, gone from being relaxed and warm, listening to music, to (without my knowing it, it seemed) an animal hotwired with emotion, out of my head for moments.

Alas, that feeling of “snapping out of it” and sadly realizing that I am, once again, so far away from a good time. And knowing, once again, that they don’t call it the demon for nothing.