Today's suggestion: Write about someone who is pretending to be someone or something that he is not. So here we go:
The lone drunk Scotsman at the bar looked at me as I walked in. It was a quiet, empty place at 11 AM on a Tuesday, the smell of cigarette smoke permeating every orifice in my body- I could hear the smoke being expelled from the lungs of patrons past. My tie was loose, and my hair soaked from the rainstorm raging outside. 11 AM on a Tuesday wasn't my usual time to patronize a place like this, but I had just told my boss to fuck off. In the world of studio films, this wasn't necessarily done. Especially since I had just approved a $235 million budget for a film that wasn't about to be made.
I was overseas, and had been videoconferenced in. My boss had just shut down the biggest project I'd ever greenlit- and I was furious. But that's not the biggest point. I'd been drinking heavily for months. I show up to work, I do my job, and I do my job well- better than probably all but 3 or 4 people in the world. I can recognize talent from a thousand miles away. I'd earned my studio over $4 billion in the projects I'd found and associate-produced in just under 2 years. A rising star, if you will. And married with two small kids. I was a miserable sack of shit masquerading as the most impressive man in the room. Obsessed with my outer appearance, success, family, happiness- I couldn't keep it all together.
Scotch helped. So did whiskey. So did vodka. Beer, not so much. LSD, not quite- made me a little crazy. Crystal meth made me clean incessantly but didn't do much for relaxation. The best combination was liquor and my wife's Xanax which I stole daily. I was out of my mind by 3 PM daily- and no one knew.
So now, overseas, alone and ashamed, I sought out my truth. I sought it in the bottom of a bottle, drowning me slowly and drowning me quickly at the same time. The Scotsman raised a glass to me as I ordered my second drink, seeking oblivion- the oblivion he obviously already had according to his blurry red eyes. Did I want to end up like him? Old, drunk and alone? The answer today is yes. Yes, I want to be drunk and alone. I don't want success, I don't want pressure, I don't want family. I want emptiness, sorrow and remorse. I'm LOVING misery. I want it. Give it to me, sweet vodka, sweet scotch. Empower my loneliness. Stroke my sorrow ego. Make me empty. Make me whole.
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