A Thousand Wasted Sundays

by Victoria Vanstone

I made promises to George and me and played out a drinking fantasy in my head. It was the same one I had before every party. It was how I kidded myself into believing I could be a normal human. Someone who could stop at one. Having a delusional fantasy about how I ‘might’ behave allowed me to get excited about going to the party.

It was the first glass that did the damage.

The remedy for the world’s wins and losses. Alcohol. Always alcohol.

The more I drank, the less I cared about what lay ahead.

I’d never considered giving up booze completely. It was always a matter of slowing down, or drinking in moderation. But it was obvious that the disco dirt was starting to stain.