I project past the first drink, past the 20th drink where I feel so sick I can't move without puking, two weeks into the future, where everything is once again unravelling in my life and I've abandoned every friendship because they are barriers to my drinking, 2 years into the future, where I'm either dead or wishing I was. I have been these places before, and I know it's a certainty that I'll be there again if I pick up. I ask myself if this is the future I want for myself.

Then I eat a big ol' bag of candy and watch a comfort show while I put off doing an inventory.