Happy 22nd birthday to my stepbrother, Rob.
My stepbrother nearly died tonight.
Now that I've got your attention, let me explain. He went out with a friend to a bar. It's now 1:56 AM. Rob has come back, drenched, and the most drunk he's ever been. On his way back here, he got out of his friend's car, and rolled into the flooded cranberry bogs, into a ditch, filled with freezing water. Because of the large quantities of alcohol he had, he spent 10 minutes trying to climb out of the ditch. In doing so, his body from the stomach down was totally frigid and drenched. He climbed back to the car, and his friend drove him the rest of the way here, where he spent the better part of an hour vomiting. Grandma was here, she helped him, and then brought him down into my care, where I had to literally hold him up, for he had no sense of motor skills. I helped him undress and put dry, warm clothes on, and then set him down in bed, where he now is, shivering, and babbling. The room reeks of alcohol. He's off to sleep now.
What a way to end a birthday. And I'm very worried. Last thing I want is to have my stepbrother dead.
God, man...what the fuck are you people thinking? What the hell? You know alcohol can do this to you, yet you insist on doing it. Moderation gets tossed out the window. Why don't you use some of your fuckin' brain? God gave you one. And here I am scared and worried for Rob. Jeez...I know that I may worry too much when someone I love goes out drinking--for I know some of you will drink to excess, whether for fun, or from anger and stress. But, looking from the example that is lying down in a stupor in front of me, my worries are realistic and grounded.
I don't want to have to go to your graves now, damn it. Next time I worry about you, take me seriously for once. The example's right in front of me.
I'll be damned if I have to go to your funeral now.
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