Home Alone is Risky Business for guys like me

I have the house to myself for two weeks.

Remember when that would’ve been like Christmas morning at Disneyland in Hawaii?

They don’t have Disneyland in Hawaii, thankfully. We’ve done enough to those people.

But there were times in life the Home Alone thing was a dream scenario for different reasons. High school would’ve been more Risky Business than Home Alone, with different variations later in life. All would’ve involved mind-altering substances.

I’m an alcoholic in my 50s. Which means the scenario must be entirely different, or could lead to ugly death and preventable pain for those around me.

That’s an extreme sentence that isn’t just me speculating dumb things in writing, like what an anti-aircraft gun would look like in my front yard.

The answer is completely awesome, of course. Especially when fired across the bow of the English neighbor’s house on Fourth of July.

The point is alcoholics are bad at being alone. Because there’s no one else around to be angry, disappointed and disgusted if they notice we drink.

And they always notice now. It became a problem from which - like the IRS discovering you have a Social Security number - there’s no coming back.

Of course, alcoholics successfully in recovery want to live healthy lives in which we don’t hide empty bottles in random tubs in the garage in June and forget about them, which definitely dampens the fun of decorating the Christmas tree.

I told that story in my book, the cover of which pretty much spells out what can happen to addicts with too much me time.

That holiday tub scenario should be enough. But you’re never a former alcoholic until you’re dead. Which actually makes you a dead alcoholic and kind of makes no sense. Either way, you have to stick with the plan.

Isolation and inactivity are definitely not our friends. Being alone for two weeks a decade ago could’ve realistically killed me, because I was already drinking at career and marriage-killing levels.

Now, after long periods of sobriety, having one drink usually means drinking for days, to the exclusion of all other activities, including working, eating, hydrating, and not attempting to smell human. Which can be a hindrance to dating.

My daughters have also entrusted me with their pets and, as pets can’t run for public office; sing in the car; whistle, hum, or play their idea of music on their phones in public; drive badly (FYI: one cat drives very well); brainlock onto their phones while sitting on the machine I need at the gym, redecorate the National Mall, undercook my fish dinner, bomb other countries (or our country, since we’re here), stand 18 inches in front of a painting I want to see, or put on progressive rock when I’m trapped in their car … I typically like pets more than humans.

I need to be present to take care of them. We all need to be alive in two weeks, or the one cat will miss his DMV appointment.

I haven’t told my daughter I taught her cat how to drive.

I can remain present by going to meetings, talking to friends, writing a lot (it’s how I pay bills, so double win there), going to the gym, playing music, meditating, reading, etc.

Busy is good, because at some point the little horned demon with the sharp tail wearing a Dio jersey he bought in 1984 will appear on my shoulder at some point when I’m alone.

He’ll say “You can totally get away with it. No one’s home. You’re awesome and so good at recovering. Of course you can work while drinking - your work will probably be better, just like your driving. Women love you - let’s call a few from your past and ask if they want to stop by. No, 2:30 a.m. is never too late. Husbands sleep very soundly. Make some life-altering decisions. You’re too charming and funny not to.”

Then he pauses before dropping the big one:

“Remember how that first drink used to feel? Let’s feel that again.”

That’s the biggest lie of all. The first drink now may feel pretty good but, unfortunately, quickly leads to a 16th drink, which feels like drinking just to breathe. And if that worked, they’d put vodka in those little yellow inhalers.

Remember Pleasure Island in Pinocchio? That’s what English teachers call a “metaphor.” Even if I did feel like a donkey that couldn’t speak English (very few donkeys can) more than a few times.

Being lonely is bad for all humans and cats. I wish this country emphasized socializing like it does working. But I wish for lots of things - most involving Salma Hayek - that never come true, so wishing alone just doesn’t work.

The people in charge need your labor and want your money. So we have to find the time and make our own social circles. If it has to involve pickleball, so be it. Being hospitalized because of a sport with a silly name is better than being hospitalized because you couldn’t fight off the little red guy on your shoulder.

Let’s talk soon.

My daughters have a dad to feed, so please consider paying $8 a month to read these columns. Find more nonsense in Tony’s book “Lying Drunk,” available from Barnes & Noble at https://bit.ly/46xoaJJ or Amazon at https://a.co/d/cYNCUPp).