One of the many scourges of our current culture is the faux virtue of faux suffering, which falls in line with that most popular of non-contact sports of virtual signaling. All signal, no virtue.
"As Scott Russell Sanders puts it, children of alcoholics develop an uncanny ability to read faces and uncover motives hidden behind words."
As do real drunks. Having a couple of bad drinking experiences doesn't make you a drunk.
Drinking every night until you pass out, hiding bottles of scotch in the workshop so you're not getting nagged by your wife by going back and forth to the 'fridge for more beer...getting closer!😂
Normies appropriating dysfunction is even creeping into the substance abuse realm, apparently...🤣
Ah, me the life of the alcoholic's progeny is not easy. I should know. My mother's idea of breakfast was vodka with a tablespoon of grapefruit juice. When she had had enough, she passed out along with what I thought was astonishingly convenient amnesia of whatever she had or hadn't said or done the night before/the day before/five minutes earlier. But her wit was second to none. Well I remember, back in '69, her loud Declaration under the influence of Godknowshowmany bottles of booze, that she didn't "understand how some fat little junkie became a national heroine". She was, of course, referring to Janis Joplin.
What I really can't stand is heavy drinkers appropriating the well earned title of alcoholic. To be a real alcoholic one must not necessarily have drink one's way into prison, the nut house or death. Indeed there are far more dry drunks out there effing up the world than drunk drunks. Dry drunks are alcoholics trying to attain nirvana by not drinking. Or maybe they're just sick of being in prison or the nut house, being sacked, writing off cars and driving their loved ones crazy. Without their medication, they are raging, roaring control freaks who think they're being reasonable when they, for example, strangle their husband because they can't stand his aftershave or the way he eats, or the way he talks, or the way he breathes. Without drinking they're just as likely to end up in aforesaid prison or nuthouse unless they begin to treat their actual problem which hithertofore they medicated with Tesco ( or Lidl, or Aldi) vodka.
But my mother isn't the worst alcoholic I ever met. That would be love of my life number 6, who, I'm very embarrassed to relate, use to decant his Netto gin into old Gordon's bottles. Sad old fart. Its not as if he was fooling anyone because tight bastard that he was, he never shared his booze with anyone.
Let’s hope your new unhoused friend suffering from alcohol abuse disorder doesn’t find herself “justice experienced” (my current favourite) at some point in the future.
One of the many scourges of our current culture is the faux virtue of faux suffering, which falls in line with that most popular of non-contact sports of virtual signaling. All signal, no virtue.
"As Scott Russell Sanders puts it, children of alcoholics develop an uncanny ability to read faces and uncover motives hidden behind words."
As do real drunks. Having a couple of bad drinking experiences doesn't make you a drunk.
Drinking every night until you pass out, hiding bottles of scotch in the workshop so you're not getting nagged by your wife by going back and forth to the 'fridge for more beer...getting closer!😂
Normies appropriating dysfunction is even creeping into the substance abuse realm, apparently...🤣
Ah, me the life of the alcoholic's progeny is not easy. I should know. My mother's idea of breakfast was vodka with a tablespoon of grapefruit juice. When she had had enough, she passed out along with what I thought was astonishingly convenient amnesia of whatever she had or hadn't said or done the night before/the day before/five minutes earlier. But her wit was second to none. Well I remember, back in '69, her loud Declaration under the influence of Godknowshowmany bottles of booze, that she didn't "understand how some fat little junkie became a national heroine". She was, of course, referring to Janis Joplin.
What I really can't stand is heavy drinkers appropriating the well earned title of alcoholic. To be a real alcoholic one must not necessarily have drink one's way into prison, the nut house or death. Indeed there are far more dry drunks out there effing up the world than drunk drunks. Dry drunks are alcoholics trying to attain nirvana by not drinking. Or maybe they're just sick of being in prison or the nut house, being sacked, writing off cars and driving their loved ones crazy. Without their medication, they are raging, roaring control freaks who think they're being reasonable when they, for example, strangle their husband because they can't stand his aftershave or the way he eats, or the way he talks, or the way he breathes. Without drinking they're just as likely to end up in aforesaid prison or nuthouse unless they begin to treat their actual problem which hithertofore they medicated with Tesco ( or Lidl, or Aldi) vodka.
But my mother isn't the worst alcoholic I ever met. That would be love of my life number 6, who, I'm very embarrassed to relate, use to decant his Netto gin into old Gordon's bottles. Sad old fart. Its not as if he was fooling anyone because tight bastard that he was, he never shared his booze with anyone.
The worst
You must turn this into a piece. Reminds me of Jeffrey Bernard.
Really?
It’s got Bernardian grit to it, yes.
Let’s hope your new unhoused friend suffering from alcohol abuse disorder doesn’t find herself “justice experienced” (my current favourite) at some point in the future.
Oh, that's unlikely. The Professional Helpers seldom intervene in the lives of those they're paid handsomely to help.