According to Scott, who picked this tidbit up while channel surfing to some standup Gary Busey (or was it Jake; we're not sure), sober means, Son Of a Bitch, Everything's Real.
I second that.
You know, I thought that getting sober would sort of automatically entitle me to a life of ease and good living. I mean, what the fuck, here, I don't drink anymore. No nightcaps (or daycaps, let's get real) to take the edge off. No wild parties, no free-wheeling conversations in which I and the others around me exchange uncensored opinions, no drunk dancing, no musical chink of beer bottles during a toast. Give up all that, you'd think you'd get some kind of luxury pass.
What a terrible disappointment to see that life is not a free ride. See, while I was drinking, it was like I was one of those homeless people who live on subways and never have to pay because they never get off the train. Now that I have emerged to the larger world I am shocked to see that it's full of pain, fear and anguish. This is most disconcerting.
The only consolation seems to be that actually feeling life with all its foibles makes for a fuller experience. You've got to take the bitter to taste the sweet, and all that.
I know that makes sense on paper but the truth is I'm a damned pussy. I have a lot of experience with being numb and slightly checked out. It's pretty rough, all this consciousness business. I wasn't expecting it. I don't know what the hell I was expecting--mostly, just to be parted from hangovers and residual shame, I think--but this life-on-life's-terms thing is a surprise.
The shocking thing is despite all this, I'm glad I'm sober. Marianne Williamson says, "Sobriety is the new high." Being one who has always been on the lookout for a high, this comforts me.