Bottoms Up!

I spent Saturday night in a bar.

I don't drink. I don't like the taste of most of the alcoholic beverages I have ever tried. I'm too much of a wuss to actually get drunk because I'm afraid of what might happen.

But nevertheless, I went to a bar. I went to a bar, because that's what people do when they have a bad week. They go to a bar, and they drink until it doesn't matter anymore. Or they go to a bar, and they loiter around until they find someone who makes them feel a little less empty inside, at least for the night.

I went to a bar because somehow, I got it into my head that doing so would make me feel better about the fact that I'm losing the person I am trying hardest to hold on to. Like somehow, if I could get someone to buy me a drink, it wouldn't matter that the happiness I had for a few beautiful months is fading into nothingness. As if there was some comfort at the bottom of that beer bottle that was going to plug this hole. It didn't help.

Have you ever gone to a bar to cheer yourself up after a rough week, or a bad day? Did it work? What do you do to try and get out of a bad mood?

~Jessica