Book Review #20

 What Is This Thing Called Love

By Kim Addonizio

    Has there ever been a time you remembered what you were thinking and feeling when you were intoxicated (primarily alcohol)? I often do, but -until I read this book- I lacked a way of expressing all of the phases I went through when a drink or two slipped down my throat on New Year's Eve or at a family celebration.

    I will explain in a slightly odd way how this book's different parts feel like one can after having alcohol. Especially if that "one" is me. 

    Part One starts not long after I've enjoyed the fullest extent of my two drinks (and maybe one shot) of the night. (I'm a lightweight, I know. Cut me some slack.) It is this fantastical feeling of letting those little erotic/erratic desires and dreams pass through. Letting your mind slip just far enough off its tight leash to explore a thought without really committing to its action. Sometimes out loud, most of the time silently as the rest of the world walks by. 

    Part Two is the deep dive. The total tonal shift that -if I find myself talking to others- tends to raise eyebrows and questions. I am thinking of death. Of dying. Of the deep recesses of my odd fatal quirks. A metaphorical plunge into an ice bath in Alaska. As disturbing as it is, it is needed. These thoughts usually come out as one-off jokes but need to be really studied and therapied (is that a word?) so I can figure out what is wrong with me. 

    Part Three comes once I've hit the bottom of the ice bath. It's where a lot of my bottled emotions usually sit, waiting for this to happen. These are the judgments I usually refuse to air out, the shame that I feel at varied intervals, the guilt I feel, the rage at what I feel like should be my grandiose life if I wasn't who I was right now, and the sorrow of just being unable to express these thoughts in normal polite company. 

    Part Four is the nostalgia run through a rather bleak filter. Remembering things through grey-colored glasses. Still kind of stuck on things that I wish I hadn't done more than things I had done. Most of my family would call this the "victim mentality" phase, but I find that I usually am just stating feelings without any expectation of sympathy or pity. Then again, this is usually the crux of my social situation: I am just talking. I am not asking for any reactions 95% of the time. I just want to put my thoughts out there and feel better knowing that I'm not holding things in any more. This is usually when someone tries to hand me another drink because this part of me is not the most pleasant to deal with if you are "trying to have good vibes going" or are "trying to have a good time at the party."

    Part Five is the my upward spiral through the last four parts. This usually means I am sobering up for the journey back home and back to being more reclusive. This is also the crucial point where more alcohol can be given and I could just cycle back down the emotions. I am all over the place, but I am definitely sounding "more positive/most sociable/more happy" than I was about ten minutes ago. 

    Now, granted, not every time is like this. But most are. And I have never come away from this cycle without either pissing someone off, making everyone sad or uncomfortable, or just sitting somewhere wanting to cry. Drinking has never been an entirely positive thing for me. And to some people, that is the perfect reason to show why I shouldn't drink at all. But like this book, my situation with drinking is somewhat needed on an annual basis at the bare minimum. It brings up a lot of things that I often wouldn't share with my family especially. If I drink on New Year's Eve especially, this is useful for clearing my mind before the year ticks over.

    Perhaps, now having read this book, I should simply recommend that my family pick up to the book, find the part I tell them, and just read a random poem from that part. Might be better than drinking. Maybe. I will have to test this out at my next family gathering where I feel comfortable enough drinking.

    With this all said, thank you Ms. Addonizio for this book. And I hope to come back to it in the future with some new insights on how to appreciate it more than I do now.