The rain. Sometimes it gives me the blues. When you first came here, I only loved the writer part of Paul Sheldon. Now I know I love the rest of him, too. I know you don't love me, don't say you do. You're beautiful, brilliant, a famous man of the world and I'm... not a movie star type. You'll never know the fear of losing someone like you if you're someone like me......I have this gun.
Sometimes I think about using it. I'd better go now. I might put bullets in it.
-Kathy Bates as Annie Wilkes in "Misery"
Okay so I'm not freakin' Annie Wilkes depressed but I'm definitely undergoing a strong bout of Christy's Syndrome today.
Christy's Syndrome is what I call strong cravings for beer counterpointed by just as strong desires to not drink. It's named for a particular liquor store in Rhode Island, Christy's Liquor Superstore. They had built this huge retail package store in the very early 90's just as I was beginning to struggle with my alcoholism. In RI, alcohol of any kind, even beer and wine, must only be bought from designated stand-alone liquor stores. And licenses were tough to come by for would-be merchants so when a new store opened up or got remodeled/expanded, it was big news for us alchies.
One of the aspects of the liquor store retail setup in RI was the fact that most stores in operation seemed to have been in business for decades. And they looked it. Dingy, dusty, sometimes downright dirty, the traditional package store didn't need to look all bright and cheerful. Their clientele were steady, as is the nature of their product to make the consumers addicts, and the customers didn't give a fuck. They just wanted to get in, get their hooch and get out fast. With little competition and a notoriety for being mob-owned, these were pretty unsavory places to be sure. Oh yes, there were more "hoity-toity" places, catering to wine connoisseurs and patrons of fine single malts and shit, but they carried the hefty prices in there. For us workin' joes, there was the neighborhood package store with the shelves of dust-covered Old Grandad and a grisly fat guy named Sal behind the bullet-proof glassed-in counter. This atmosphere of desperation and destitution helped me when trying to stay away from them.
But Christy's was one of a few new style liquor stores to make the scene. It was sparkling-new and friendly. Product was displayed lovingly in end-caps, aisles and illuminated with sharp track lighting. The uniformed staff were polite and didn't make you feel like you were buying something illegal. It screamed in bright cheerful colors: "Buy here, and you won't feel dirty! After all, drinking is hip and cool!"
So by 1992 when I was earnestly trying to stay off the bottle, if I ever caught myself driving down Cranston St. in Cranston (which I don't know why I would since I had no business in Cranston then. Maybe I was shopping?) I would get the twang in my stomach when I saw Christy's. There were nights, I remember, that I would drive up and down the road, passing Christy's, fighting with myself as to whether I'd go in or not. And this could last for hours. Either I'd finally drive home after giving in and getting something, or I'd be sweating and shaking, having been able to hold off...for another day.
So today it's raining out and will be, according to the weathermen, for another few days.
I guess that's good, what with the weather we've been having and the brush fire alerts and all, the land needs a a long deserved drink after this dry spell.
And so do I.
No I don't.
Yes I do.
No I don't.
Where's that gun when you need it?