Ninety-two days, since my last drink.
The first week I was stranded.
Lost in a desert, parched.

The coldest, freshest water was dust in my mouth.
I couldn't quench my thirst.
Nothing brought that refreshing sensation;
That overwhelming elation that my first beer had each day.

Whenever I took my first sip, I felt enlightened.
My soul beemed with joy.
Nothing else mattered after that first sip.
All the word was irrelevant compared to me and my drink.

And that was the problem.
It was all irrelevant.
Beer was my partner.
Scotch was my lover.
Brandy, my best friend.

And I, was an alcoholic.
I AM, an acoholic.
Ninety-two days into recovery.
Ninety-two days into the rest of my life.