Finding A Way Out.

The one thing about sobriety. 

The one thing about sobriety is that it doesn't let up.  Every day it is thick and frothy and consistent and relentless.  Not foggy, not groggy. 

Thick and muscular, it is a full body suit pressing down with a constancy that cannot be adequately transmitted through engorged pupils or muffled grunts of effort.  It sticks back every attempt, placid and patient and unemotional, and stale air accumulates in a grey mist.    At the end of this year I'll have nothing to show for my sobriety.  Maybe I'll drop a few pounds.  Doubtful.  But maybe.  I'll have to face the prospect of the ceaseless ever smothering nature of this cold water.  There will be no celebration. 

There will be no loosening.  The answer is that working harder and tighter and more efficiently is the only way out--to burrow in so tightly as to invert my skin, fold it back with a sadistic grin, halloween inside out, and when the time approaches to jump, I'll have to have the courage to take a risk, and be naked.  Naked and slack jawed.