On Doctor's Orders

JUICE

I’ve quit drinking orange juice.

It’s a long story.

Three years ago, my doctor told me to quit drinking alcohol and try orange juice.

“It’s got vitamin C.” He said as if it was the be all and end all of everything. “Vitamin C will protect you from getting ill. I’m a great believer in natural products. Don’t drink the stuff they sell in Wal-Mart. Make your own. Fresh, organic, sweet and fresh. Nothing beats it. Believe me Mr Anderson, you’ll feel the benefit.”

My mother raised me to believe doctors know what they’re doing. Doctors were gods in her day, but times change. Shit! Doctors are liars. If I ever fall ill again, I’ll just deal with it. I’ve been three years on the wagon but now, I’m staring at a bottle of whiskey that I bought an hour ago at the liquor store. My fridge has no food in it but it’s full of beer and man, do I feel good.

Three years on fresh orange juice turned my piss that color. No man should piss orange. It’s demeaning and it also stains your pants. I'm tired of wearing black pants.

Three years of orange juice also fucked up my head. When I was a drunk I never worried about anything. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t have a bank account. I sure as hell didn’t have any worries. Now I have all three. It sucks.

That doctor robbed me of my self-esteem. When I went to a bar I was somebody. They all loved me perhaps for the wrong reasons but I never cared about that! I never kidded myself that everyone loved me for my good looks and witty conversation but they sure as hell knew whi I was. Now I'm just invisible.

I took my doctors' advice because he said I’d die if I carried on drinking. He caught me off guard which is a dirty trick to play at any time but especially bad if you’re halfway dead. I think I must have been drunk or something when, just after I’d left the doctor’s I stood up at the bar and poured that last beer on the floor and announced. “That’s it.” I sure as hell wouldn’t have done it sober!
The first year was rough, much worse than any hangover.

Last week I watched a debate about whaling. Three years ago I didn’t give a damn about big fish but now I found myself screaming at a Japanese guy who was in a studio about three thousand miles away. That’s when it started to hit home. I have wasted three years of my life in living a life I didn’t need and I didn’t want.

I have a woman. We’re not married but we live together. When I was a drunk, fucking a woman was a selfish indulgence. I never gave a rat’s ass whether or not whoever I was screwing got any pleasure out of it. Now, I have to think about her needs. I have to fucking think! Thinking takes away all the pleasure. I want to scream at her but because I drink orange juice I have no anger left.

She does Tai Chi. She encourages me to take it up. Why? Three years ago the most exciting thing I ever did was to cross the street in a straight line.

The whisky bottle talks to me in a voice that's pure LA noir; it's Sam Spade in a bottle.

“If you were a man, you’d take your life back. I don’t know if you have the guts to do it. I mean, look at you. You check yourself out in the mirror every morning. Why? Maybe the world will stop if you don’t shave or brush your teeth? Perhaps it will. Perhaps you want to live your life in a filing cabinet. How’s that job of yours? Worried about that promotion? Have you filed your tax returns? You still have dirty thoughts don’t you about that little clerk on the third floor. Yeah, she’s nice. You would wouldn’t you? The hell you would! Three years ago you would’ve but that was before your piss turned orange. Why are you listening to me at all? I’m just a bottle. No comeback, eh. You know I’m right, don’t you?”

I do, I do. I thank that whisky bottle by drinking it dry. When I’m drunk I can focus. I see things a lot clearer.

Tomorrow I’ll leave my woman. I don't think she'd like my drinking. She only drinks green tea and camomile, I don't even know what camomile is. I know it's not whisky, that's for sure.

Anyhow, I don’t think she’ll care that much. Sexually we were never that much in tune. I think she just needed someone that needed an anchor. She'll find another soul to save,

Perhaps my pecker will grow again. I mean, it always looked bigger when I was drunk. I never had any complaints, well I never heard them if I did. That's what's great about being drunk too, you only hear what you want to hear and you never fall ill.

You never have to see a doctor.

And you never have to drink orange juice.