I woke up on my rooftop and downed the second half of a King Cobra 24 ouncer. During my lunch break I went to the Wagon Wheel Saloon and had two IPAs and a shot of cheap tequila; that was an entertaining class, let me tell you. I rounded out that night drinking Pabst on a different rooftop and eating burritos. Good times.

I decided to stop drinking when my brother moved to town on Monday. That weekend was my last hoorah as I danced to dub-step, drank whiskey and puked out the back of my van onto a suburban Petaluma street.

Now in the big picture of alcoholism, I haven’t had a problem. I went to school every day, I got an A in every class except cooking and drinking has not inhibited my ability to work. However, with alcoholism running rampant on both sides of my family, I was born an alcoholic. There is a line that if I cross, will send me spiraling down into an abyss so many of us know so well.

My mother has battled alcoholism for years, and while she hasn’t stopped, she does have it under control. The late nights of drunken sobbing over imagined rumors attacking her character are gone. My dad and his three brothers drink beers every day. Twelve packs of Sierra Nevada disappear faster than cookies around sweet-toothed kindergarteners.

I got through less of a week before my dad came down and bought me beers at a Zepparella show. Damn. I don’t blame him, I didn’t even tell him I had quit and I think I asked for a beer. I like drinking with my dad, it’s a good feeling. Its like I’ve passed some sort of cultural test or something, I now can drink alcohol with my dad. Hooray!

So I quit again, this time for the entire month of October. I haven’t felt like I am about to crack, I haven’t felt at any point like I might not be able to not drink, but I wanted to. Its not a strong pull but it is one I can feel and that reminds me I have to watch myself. If I ever wake up and realize I don’t have my alcohol intake under control, I’ll be in trouble. I have yet to need to go to Alcoholics Anonymous and I plan to keep it that way.

One month dry, just to make sure I still can, and I feel great. Halloween, when the clock strikes midnight, I’m diving right into that bottle of tequila I just bought. I’m sure as hell not against a good time; I’ll be puking up my liver again soon. As long as they don’t cause problems, I really like my drunken nights and I can almost taste vomit.