Testing Sanity by Hugh Blanton

There's nothing more pleasurable than solitary drinking.

Preferably on a cold night - the heater on rain splashing

on the concrete outside.

Sublime.

But once a month or so I hit the bars.

I can't really figure out why.

I almost always regret it the next day

as I wake up and the memories of the

previous night's events start bubbling up

out of my hungover brain. It's an overwhelming

assault of both vision and sound.

The repetitive nonsense I yammer endlessly.

The angry glare from the woman at the end of the bar

who overheard my whispered gossip about her.

The sexual encounter in the restroom.

The bouncer unlocking the door and walking in.

Even things that happened over a decade ago

still rip at me to this day.

Why do I keep going back?

Releasing myself from solitude is necessary

to check my sanity. As of yet - I've never evaluated myself

sane enough to become one of the crowd -

so I retreat again. And I never improve.

Crazier than a shit house rat.

Hugh Blanton is a truck loader who combs poems out of his hair during those times he can steal away from his employer's loading dock. He has appeared in Bottom Shelf Whiskey, The Dope Fiend Daily, Terror House Magazine and other places.