In less than an hour, I shook myself awake. That night, after a nightcap or two, I passed out.
How I got through the day, I will never know. the band left in my trunk, and when I felt I was getting sick, I would step outside for some “Dog.”. Luckily, I discovered an unopened quart of Seagrams V.O. The ten hour day in a hot, noisy kitchen was a feverish nightmare. Then I vomited, lit a cigarette and headed out the door for work. Then that old evil grin came over my face. I immediately felt my composure start to come back. I grabbed the half empty Jack Daniels bottle from under the sink and it was “over the lips and across the gums, look out belly here it comes.” I was shaking and puking while trying to stand up straight. The next morning I felt like I had contracted malaria. Oh, happy days are here again….I thought. All through the night I was rethinking my new life with my old friends, drugs and alcohol. I drank a half a bottle of Jack Daniels before leaving the house and continued into the night with, as Jack Kennedy would say, “great vigor and aggression.” There was a big party on a Saturday night and I was determined to be the life of it. Work sucked when I had to do it sober, and it seemed I didn’t have the same nerve with the ladies without my bottle of balls.
The guys in the band were still using, and the gig profits went up everybody’s nose but mine. None of these activities were appealing to me sober. I was still in my band, Skidder Munrow, working in a restaurant, and trying to chase the babes around. In the spring of 1980, I had barely a year of sobriety under my belt.
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