The spirit in me.

So I'm new to the whole drinking thing. I mean, I'll be honest, I went to some parties during high school where booze was present. Yup, there was some underage drinking. I'm not going to lie. But it never really appealed to me. I always wanted to be that mysterious guy who everyone talked about but no one really knew. The guy who would appear out of nowhere at a party, bearded, sober, and profound that would invariably -- in my brief appearance -- set girls' hearts aflutter and ignite guys' envy.

Alas, this was not me. First of all, I still can't grow a beard. Second of all, my classmates didn't care whether I was profound or as deep as an eco-friendly urinal. What they cared about was whether or not I could secure some booze, pot, or other foreign substance they could ingest and use to pretend they weren't who or where they actually were. But that wasn't me either. Suffice it to say I wasn't the most popular kid in the class. ...Scratch that, I was the most popular kid in the class until the class discovered mind-altering substances. After that the bloom on my flower quickly faded.

But that's neither here nor there (well, maybe there). I'm not in high school anymore. And I'm not that person anymore. This new person who has replaced that old person (the younger one), is someone who has come to appreciate the pleasures to be found in the bottle. Far be it from me to endorse underage drinking, but if I'm old enough to die for my country how is it I'm not old enough to gaze upon an unattractive girl through the miracle of beer-goggles and decide she's the one for me (that night) to be rejected by?

But that's neither here nor there (well, maybe here). The fact is I enjoy the occasional spirituous beverage. I don't drink every night. And I don't need to drink to enjoy myself. But when I do choose to imbibe, something takes ahold of me. And it's not just that I become socially lubricated to the extent you could pass a naval vessel through my metaphorical orifice, and it's not just that the crushing weight of reality is momentarily relieved...there's a part of myself that wants to... what is it, punish myself? Is it my Catholic guilt? Is it the newfound personal freedom to do this to myself that I'm indulging? Whatever it is, it's not unpleasant. That is to say, it isn't not pleasant. And I'm thoroughly convinced that it's a part of learning my limits, perhaps a part of making my mistakes, and ultimately a part of becoming an adult. Maybe not for everyone, but for me.

And so I'm sitting here, a can of Schlitz beside my laptop glaring at me, challenging me, and I'm up for it. I don't need it. And this challenge is a self-imposed one, but I'll take it up for now. I'll take it up knowing the risks. I'll take it up knowing what's at stake. I'll meet this challenge and I will conquer it. And I'll enjoy it in the process. Isn't that what you adults do? Whatever the answer to that question is, it's what this adult intends to do.