The Consumption of Alcohol in a Secretive Manner on New Years Eve

I am currently consuming alcohol, and not by drinking it, but by eating it. Though it tastes just as horrid as drinking alcohol, eating it differs in that nobody suspects a darned thing.

My alcohol, vodka, is tucked away in an ingenious visible and edible compartment that is not in the most suspicious. There are several of these compartments, and they are all hidden in a sealed container which, arguably can be excused by a reason which states that I choose to keep these individual compartments fresh, hence I shy them away in an airtight container in the fridge. But seeing as this post is about alcohol and how it is in these tucked away compartments then you and I both know that this is not true. Well, it is partially.

The truth is that the container is keeping my little alcoholic friends hidden from consumption by other people and keeping their vodka smell from giving their true forms away. They are mere gummy bears, and they have been soaked in vodka overnight. They have grown to double their size, but only I can be the judge and observer of that for I was the one who saw them in their natural state before they became inflated with Russian water. Nobody suspects a thing.

After four vodka gummy bears, vodka becomes distasteful as my tastebuds begin to crave only gummy bears, whereas my mind craves the weightlessness that the alcohol provides. It is a constant battle between flavour and feeling – the one that will prevail will be feeling, because as the world stupidly celebrates our constant ageing and the illusory chance to start anew, I must drown out most of my consciousness so that I can awaken the next day still grasping my sanity.

My sanity is standing on the edge of its version of Mount Everest and it is banging itself over its own forehead with a mace, thinking about why everyone thinks that they must wait for the New Year to attempt to wipe their slates clean. As one wise friend of mine puts it, today is merely an arbitrary day. Nothing crazy and dream-like will be granted to you. If you rob a bank, you will be caught. If you murder your ex’s new spouse, you will be caught. 2014 is not a magical year, it is like the other years of your existence and ultimately it is up to you to make it count. It does not arrive at your doorstep, take you for a ride of your lifetime and make all your dreams come true. It will, in three-hundred and sixty-five days disappear just like most boyfriends after they find out their girlfriends are pregnant. 2014 is not the Fairy Godmother. It has neither a large butt nor a magical wand. It is just another set of three-hundred and sixty-five days whereby you are exploited by the capitalist state in which you reside.

So, these gummy bears will hopefully assist me in blocking out the mindless chatter of the youth surrounding me. It is a false hope to assume that the next set of consecutive days will enhance your life. Only you are the mastermind behind your own enhancing. Only you can acquire Haribo gummy bears from your nearest petrol station and flood them in vodka overnight so that their consumption can assist you in flooding out useless and repetitive chatter.

Consuming alcohol in a secretive manner hides all of your bitter thoughts and words and drowns them with its own bitter taste. Be numb this holiday, because if you do not, you most likely will experience the same thing every year that you exist on this day, the constant false hopes of friends and strangers alike pretending to sit in the palms of their hands and then wasting away like their chances at achieving those hopes.

I am a realist and realistically speaking, gummy bears flooded in alcohol are my method of surviving through this. Apart from that, I am quite enjoying the secretive consumption of alcohol.