What part of “don’t talk about alcohol around me” don’t people understand? It’s so freaking simple. I guess the problem is that you can’t tell people to not do that. People seem to talk incessantly about it – in lab, out in public, online, etc. I guess they don’t notice that I turn rather quiet and deadpan whenever this happens.
Drink whatever you want, you can do it next door or in the hallway, too, whatever, right next to me! But don’t freaking talk about it. It pisses me off and I don’t want to hear it. Even when I drink, why would I talk about it? Do I tell you that I drank a cup of water and a red bean bubble tea? No .. . So why do you all want to talk about your “drinks” so much? Does it make you feel cool? Sound chill and down with it? I guess some people might think they’re “confessing” to me, but I’m not a priest and I don’t care to hear it. My parents drink sometimes, but they don’t talk about it and it’s fine – they drink at the table, I don’t. My preference isn’t inherited; it’s my own.
Yes, I know this is a part of the young generation’s fashion, like the internet and cell phones – given the disparity between the 81% of high school students who drink, vs. only 64% of adults who do so [Gallup poll]. Of course, not to rain anyone’s parade, but only 42% of MIT students actually drink once or more times a week, so I’d hardly call that the “norm” [news office]. I’m clearly, then, not even in a minority.
It is not a sin to drink, but I cannot perceive of a person as being innocent or pure-hearted if he or she does. That is because alcohol is an entity to me, a collective being, and one either associates with it or one doesn’t. And that being, I blame and dislike. People flock to it as if it symbolized fun and relaxation; ads have made it essential for any football enthusiast and girl in a sleek dress and a young couple at a romantic, high-class date and of course the aspiring young businessperson. And if you think that way, fine!
But don’t talk to me about it. That idle chatter can put me in a bad mood for hours or days, and honestly I have no control over that response. If you want to talk about it, just do it away from me, or just don’t talk to me if you know you can’t help but talk about it. I’m tired of putting up with this shit and living in the shadow of that vile pestilence.
I’m sure some people would reply: no, you’re just paranoid, because you’ve just never tried it. Sheesh, believe me, with my overactive mind and through-the-roof stress levels, you think I’ve never desired a salve to loosen myself up and drown away my memories and troubles? I’ve wanted it badly, very badly. Badly enough that I don’t think I would even trust myself to use it in moderation. I’ve probably also inhaled more ethanol than most of you all, given how much I use in lab and to cook as well. Even in the absence of trying it, I think that I know how it feels. I certainly would not describe that aura as a negative feeling. It is undoubtedly happiness and aloof mirth. But I have to conquer myself and this wretched life on my own, or I will never be able to earn the respect of the angels and go to heaven when I die.