Luck of the Draw

Stupid things, just plain dumb comes to the sober mind.

I did some idiotic things when I was drinking. Long ago,

I gave up believing in the fantasy that a guardian angel

was assigned by a Higher Power to protect me.

I would not place myself in the top 6-billion people in

the world considered worth saving. Screw it and you too,

was the vodka mantra which I used to chant each day. It

was all a game of Russian Roulette I was playing, per se,

A random spin of the bottle, you know. And to this day, I

remain somewhat amazed that I somehow made it out of

my choking intoxication alive. One night in a drunken rage,

I grabbed my dinner plate and slammed it against the kitchen

counter. A razor sharp chard sliced my arm open just below

the hand, a mere millimeter away from a vital artery. That’s

what the doctor at the emergency room told me. You’re one

lucky fellow, she said while stitching up my wound. And, she

added, you’re so calm about it too. Although I wasn’t going

to get into the details of my mishap, I was feeling no pain by

and large due to the excessive measure of alcohol I had pre-

viously consumed. That happened some thirty-five years ago.

A lot of alcohol has poured between my lips since then. A few

years ago I gave up the booze, decided to face my reality in

sobriety. Could be that is why I am able to relay my experience

to you this day. I bear that indelible scar on my wrist to remind

me of those darker days. Still no sign of a guardian angel to
see me through, though. To this day, just dumb luck of the
draw, I suppose.

Chris Hanch 8-5-18