Dropping this cup of suffering

Luke 22:42 “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me. Yet not my will but yours be done.”

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I should quit alcohol.

This is a piece of advice I have given myself on many a hang down mornings, or, since even hangovers deemed me miserable company, on many a broken financial-plan mornings.

In the words of one Victor Bundi, you are not in any way special. What has happened to others will happen to you. You will get cheated on and you will be dumped. You will lose your job and your relatives will die. These things are not a preserve for any cadre of people. They happen to others. They happen to you. It is nothing personal. They have happened before and they will happen again. As such, I have had the same encounters with my drink as the next drinker, or drunk.

I have made drunk calls and professed love. I have been in my fair share of bar brawls. I have fallen asleep outside my front door because I could not trace the keys. Or when I did, because I fumbled with the gate keys trying to open the door and finally decided someone had changed my lock.

I once lost my way in Kakamega and took the longest walk of my life away from my intended destination. Rumour has it that I was at some point spotted in Lurambi, but I cannot confirm that because I don’t know Lurambi and by the time I came to my senses I had already walked all the way back to Kakamega. Also, you know, enemies of development.

I once told my father that I wanted my inheritance. Well, that was sorted with a kind of efficiency that it would never happen again if I was on a hallucinogen delivered personally by El Chapo.

All for good measure, because it was always there, in the pre-drinking licence agreement, but I avoided the details and clicked ‘Agree and Continue.’ It was something like ‘Alcohol would like to take control of the following on your profile: Rational thinking, judgement, secrets, insecure thoughts, financial management and speaking volume.’ [Drink] [Go Home]

[Drink]

By clicking drink, it is assumed you have read, understood and accepted the alcohol effects policy. [Drink] [Go Home]

[Drink]

Alcohol is strictly an adult drink. Click drink only if you have attained 18 years of age, or the stipulated drinking age in your area. (21 for some jurisdictions) Haha, if you get this one you are guilty.  [Drink] [Go Home]

F*cking [DRINK!!!] Did I come here for some kind of test? I am sober, I know what I am doing ffs!

So, you see, I have no reason to blame alcohol having being forewarned about the effects. So, if I quit, I am prohibited from any form of badmouthing. Still I need to quit.

Not because of any of the above and the unmentioned encounters. Save for one extreme, which I cannot tell because of the solemn vow taken between the parties involved. A secret between many.

I am just not understanding my alcohol anymore, that’s why. In the classic modern break up line, it is just not the same anymore. It is not the same alcohol I got addicted to.

Because how do you explain two healthy men downing an entire 750 ml of [Insert random alcohol brand here, because people get judged by their brand of poison] one random evening, then getting knocked out by a ka-quarter of the same brand on another random evening. How? There is that ‘must be because we drank without eating’ line, but no. I refuse that one, which I highly suspect was invented at the distillers, distributors and bartenders Annual General Meeting.

If you ask me, those two drinks are totally different, with the possibility that none of them contains even 0% alcohol.

Lately, I even feel stupid giving my answer to the question ‘Do we go with rum or whiskey?’ I feel stupid thinking that the two drinks might have originated from the same barrel- in the very unlikely event that they ever were inside one- had different coloring agents added then packed in respective rum and whiskey bottles.

I feel stupid thinking man at the wines and spirits outlet knows this, and is laughing inwardly at our decision to go for the more expensive whiskey. I feel stupid reading the sticker on the said whiskey, that it has been matured in a wooden cask long before I started getting matured in a district secondary school.

I ignore the nagging feeling that the best container my whiskey has been in is a recycled cooking fat bucket, but I cannot shake off the other feeling that it cannot have lasted more than 48 hours since distillation- or whatever process by which it came to be. I feel like the age of the whiskey I buy decreases the closer I move to Kangemi.

I no longer participate in discussions on which is better- whiskey, gin, brandy rum or vodka. Well, I still read articles on each brand, but giving a personal opinion, no. I even don’t badmouth vodka as I used to anymore.

Since sometime back when I happened to find myself in an unfamiliar neighbourhood, and got to sample their whiskey.

You probably know about the sampling of alcohol. When you visit a town, you want to compare the Tusker sold there to the one you have back home. In my college days, I severally had visiting friends tell me ‘pombe ya Eldee sio poa.’ So I sampled. And I realised that I probably had never tasted whiskey before (and since.)

That one glass of whiskey. A big lesson.

I no longer pretend to be a whiskey head. Serve me gin. Serve me brandy. Hell, serve me vodka if you may. They are all the same. Okay, I’ll pass on the wine. Too sweet. Sweeter than that cake the devil tricked The Taxpayer to buy.

Speaking of wine, going forward, I will not be telling anyone they are aging like fine wine. Because I know nothing about the aging of wine.

Meanwhile, unless I can find a way of getting my hands on real true whiskey, I need to

  1. Stop choosing brands, and types of alcohol, or
  2. Stick to beer,
  3. Most importantly, quit alcohol.

Anyone willing to save me from quitting?

PS: I know who will be calling me to encourage me on my latest step towards quitting. You will tell me stuff about admitting being the first step, blah blah blah….and since I don’t want that, I will brush you off with “This is not my story. Not all things I narrate happen to me as a person.” You won’t be able to beat that, so, peace.

#iOut

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6 thoughts on “Dropping this cup of suffering

  1. HAHA, This is just hilarious. I think alcohol manufacturing(it is manufactured, right? In an old cooking fat tin) should borrow the TERMS AND CONDITIONS part from you, written in bold on every alcohol bottle, and only after you sign do you get to open, so we don’t have people saying, ‘I said/did that because I drank/drunk without eating first’.
    And then everyone stops complaining that sijui oh wine is too sweet, especially those who dilute their whiskey with fanta

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