what was it i was looking for?
a good question

im not wuite sure. But the entire mental scenario, a bottle in teh fridge calling to me . . . it worried me.

a few shots in my belly, enough to feel warm, enough that my muscles were loose . . . i left to smoke, found myself driving around greensboro with two other girls and a guy i hadnt met trying to find a bowling alley with some open lanes.

This is generally the sort of even i love, complete and utter spontanaeity, jus ta random decision and going somehwere totally unplanned.

we didnt find one and around 10:30 all I could think was that the Tall lanky young gentleman and his ewok-like roommate were back form rehearsal and i hadnt seen them all day, and the vodka was wearing off.

They have become my greatest friends.

I was thinking about this fear of becoming an alcoholic, alot in the past few hours. I often jokingly say that i had three parents growing up, my mother, my brother, then the television. . . . somehow i try to avoid allowing my father to calculate in

from my mother i learned the fear of failure, of complete and utter decimation. the fear of everyone being dissapointed in me.

from the television, with its beautiful ideals of love i learned the fear of dying alone, the fear of never turning otu beautiful and desireable, and the fear of being different.

from my father i learned the fear of agner, of the negative thigns inside me that i saw mirrored in him. i learned the fear of lack of self ocntrol and teh fear of entrapment

from my brother i learned the fear of becoming something i am not, the fear of becoming my father.
It is one we both share. There is a shudder that rises up my spine sometimes, when i have not heard my brothers voice in a while and when i do hear it, some of it echoes the sound of my father.
as a youth we pinned certain labels on him, of things we would not become.
angry
apathetic
short-tempered
loud
cruel
judgemental
alcoholic

that last one, we had a tendency to attribute eveyrthing back to that. he was angry because of alcohol, loud because of alcohol . . . .

my brother knows that i drink on occassion. He does not know that i now do it almost weekly, he does not know that i have been drunk tot he point of seeing double.

There are so few things i keep from him, but that . . . that i keep hidden away, along with smoking nd marijuana.
what would i say?

how would i react to his almost parental dissapointemnt when i truly care what he thinks . . .

and knowing our shared fear, of our fathers demons . . . how can i explain it away?