The 7 Days of Drinking
By: T.S. Lowry
Tags: Alcohol, Writing, Writer, Life, Addiction

Note: This takes place during most weeks in 2015, a time when I worked in an office as a sportswriter. These were some of my recurring thoughts during this time.

Thursday

Friday is a day away. I might drink tonight … or I might drink tonight. I need to take the edge off. I need to escape. I’m tired of writing for The Man seven days a week. I miss my friends from back home. I’m definitely drinking tonight. My fogginess is finally gone and the bags and dark circles underneath my eyes left with it. I want to let loose. Plus, what else is a recent college graduate supposed to do on the weekend? I haven’t even hit my mid-to-late twenties — I’m supposed to make dumb decisions via getting drunk.

Friday

I’m so hungover. I wonder if people notice. The bags are back because of a lack of sleep and dehydration. I’m also carrying a large cup of coffee and don’t stop to say hi to co-workers. I need to get through the day and call it an early evening…

A party song from my not-so-distant past pops up and I start to wonder what people are doing tonight. It’s Friday and the only thing to do on Friday night is party. Time to Gchat my co-workers…

The Gchat data is in and it’s saying the group is planning on eating at a restaurant and going to the bars after. I can’t afford dinner, so I’m going to make up an excuse that they will likely believe since the writers of this company work days, nights and weekends. I really do have to cover the Pac-12 game tonight. I’ll meet them out for some late-night drinks.

Saturday

Last night was crazy. I can’t believe how many shots we did. No wonder why I don’t remember coming home. Shit, no wonder why I puked. I wish it wasn’t the college football season. On top of this hangover, I have to cover the games today…

I’m tired of writing. One more game and then I’m going to meet up with the guys for drinks in Newport Beach.

Sunday

Did I really say that last night? I don’t remember. It could be worse. At least I don’t have to write today…

Shit, I missed the big play and didn’t do a post for it on Saturday night. I hope my employer isn’t pissed tomorrow morning. I did write seven articles on top of the top-25 rankings, so that’s probably good enough for, I don’t know, a fucking Saturday.

Monday

The bags and circles are back. My brain is a foggy mess. I hate going into an office. I hate the drivers in California. I don’t have time to make breakfast. I’ll get a burrito at Jan’s (the restaurant in my work building)…

Looks like my employer is pissed, as usual. Everyone is also going through what I’m going through — irritability and hate toward being at work this morning.

Tuesday

Fuck work. Fuck my novel. Fuck writing seven-plus articles a day, even if most of them are under 250 words. Fuck sports. Fuck everything…

The content meeting wasn’t so bad. I had ideas and we covered everything this past weekend … except for the big play, which my employer made sure to remind me of with a dose of “we need to do better.” I thought eight articles on the weekend was doing better. Ungrateful…

I need to read or start my novel tonight. That was the plan in college — a sportswriter by day and an aspiring novelist by night. But I’m so tired and my brain is cloudy. I wish I didn’t have to write so much for work. It would make writing my novel that much easier if I had more free time and my mind wasn’t gone by the time I got home because of words…

I could use a drink. It’s only Tuesday, though. I tend to overdo it on the weekends, but I don’t want to turn into one of those people who drinks every night. I don’t like drinking — I just like to party.

Wednesday

I feel like a human again and my back-to-normal eyes agree. Conversations are easier and, you know what, I kind of like my job. Also, one more day and then someone will have something fun to do on Thursday night.