I quit

A thick, milky ocean laps against me; these dreams like cliffs, eroding away. I dream about prison and about searching in a deep hole. I wake up with my eyes closed and feel around me. Please tell me I'm safe. Please tell me I'm not doing something stupid. Am I alone? Am I clothed? What's going on? How did I get here? What time is it? What day? It's whack-a-mole, and the questions pop up and down faster than I can swing the hammer. It gets heavier every time. A tickle in my throat. Did I vomit? How hung over will I be? Am I supposed to look cool, mixing things together like a chemist without an education? No one holds me back, and no one chastises, but I feel like an idiot. Baseless. Adrift. Twitching and wired. Trying to decide if knowing is better than wondering. The drink gets me here, and I worry about where here is.

I quit.