Binge drinking as I used to know it is dead to me.
For much of my time at Dartmouth, it was an integral part of my life. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday -- I didn't even have to think twice. It wasn't a question of "Will I go out tonight?" It was a question of "where," of "how hard," of "how many apology blitzes will I need to send tomorrow morning." It was like a bad habit. And, yes, it got the best of me. I thought I was hitting rock bottom.
Eventually, I realized that I needed to get my life back together. By my junior year, I started trying to abstain on at least one of those days each week. You know the old saying, "if you booze you lose?" Well, I figured that even if I binge three nights a week, I'm still "winning" on the other four nights, so I'd come out a winner overall - even if I had to wait until Sunday night to clinch the title in game seven.
And for awhile, this attitude seemed to work. My grades went up a bit. I slept better, and less in class. I even found myself a nice little internship without applying to forty-odd different places that I know nothing about except that they've got a resume drop.
With the positive shift in my "time sober"time awake" ratio came more time for deep reflection. And upon reflection, it was obvious -- what I needed to do was get the devil in the bottle completely out of my life. And so I did -- right then and there; last winter, I told myself that I wasn't going to binge anymore. Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday -- I cut that routine straight out of my life.
Yes, binge drinking as I used to know it is dead. No longer part of my life.
Shortly after I quit the habit, I went to my friend WebMD to learn a little more about my one-time problem and how far I'd come. But when I started scanning the list of symptoms, a wave of shock rushed over me. Drunkenness. Poor judgment. Coordination difficulty. Stupor. Wait a minute -- these weren't symptoms of a disease, these were some of my closest friends! Even you, nystagmus!
Presumably designed as a deterrent or warning signal, this list was actually hitting me like a slow-motion, reverse-intervention montage of the best nights of College. Cue Bon Jovi.
And that's when it dawned on me: the worst part about binge drinking at Dartmouth isn't the binge drinking itself. Quite the opposite; that's the best part. What really has me down is that it's become so bourgeois.
Seriously, everyone's doing it. We wear alcohol-related discipline records like badges of honor now, and if you've never left your 10A to perform the Technicolor yawn in a Silsby bathroom, you might be in the minority.
From this saturation of heavy drinkers came all of my real binge-related problems. Five-deep pong lines at 8 p.m. Hordes of freshmen fiending for Keystone when all I'm trying to do is hang out with people I actually know. Incessant yelling and booting in the place I call home by kids who were drinking Smirnoff Ice in their parents' basement this time last year.
Maybe if we had a couple more fraternities some of these problems could be ameliorated, but that's neither here nor there.
Once I had this epiphany, I adjusted my lifestyle appropriately. And I'm pleased to say that today, I no longer binge drink like I used to.
Now, don't get me wrong. If it's Sunday, Tuesday or Thursday and I've got some like-minded friends, I may knock a few back. Hell, I may even start in the morning and see if I can kill a whole case.
And if I've got to make a presentation in class, or need to knock the socks off of a recruiter, well, I may have two or three just to loosen up. Four -- even five -- if I'm feeling particularly stressed. I'm counting in games of pong, of course.
And on those days when I realize that I already have a job next year, and that nothing really matters anymore, all bets are off.
So when you see me this morning, forgive me for not saying hi to you -- I'm definitely still drunk, and I probably didn't see you. With this much snow on the ground, the light is damn near blinding when I'm this hungover.
