I embarked on my first week-long bender because I got dumped. Even when you know it’s coming, when you’re young—or maybe, also, when you’re not—it sucks. Really bad. After pleading and crying and many empty threats, I called some friends, went to the Greyhound station, got hit-on by some dude on his way to a Job Corps forestry program, and tearfully rode the bus to Santa Cruz, where I wallowed in cheap vodka, puked up cheap vodka, and might have eaten a burrito at some point. I stumbled through five misty, hazy days of drunk before catching a ride home. Splitting headache and trembling hands aside, I felt much better than I had before I left. I felt cleansed.
Read more »