"Shit-face" Therapy

 I'll never understand why the place that I currently call "home" has such a dislike for contemporary RnB, though they find some solace in country. Granted, I wouldn't mind some Charlie Pride (thankyou dad for that), it is essentially the same thing. No, I'm not comparing the use of a rural fiddle with a jazz guitar, nor would I place in the same class a harmonica and a string of violins, but the comparision still remains. They are two genres that speak of love, yearning, but most of all, heartbreak.
 I had an eventful evening. A friend of mine, who I would classify as a local, recently found himself at my door step after another one of of his "disagreements" with his significant other. So naturally, I invited him in, partly for the sake of company, but mostly because I feared for what he might do in the event that he was left to his own devices. At first, we found ourselves talking, where he tentatively opened up to me about the inner dynamics of his relationship with his "special someone" and how despite his best efforts, it all turned to shit. But afterwards, a certain degree of agitation set in. So, I turned to my trusted aid in personal expression.
 Anybody who knows me would know that I've spent this past year in the presence of one so direct and bold that he stands alone, in my eyes, in the realm of striking and blunt honesty. That one is Captain Morgan (yes, I refer to the brand of rum). Though I make no excues, I make no apologises for it neither, nor do I ask for any understanding or forgiveness.
 Back to the tale, my friend and I christened a recently acquired bottle of the aforementioned, and began to drink. With the progession of time, my friend began to open up more, regaling me with tales of how his shortcomings and undesireablre traits cause a certain rift with his girlfriend, which was only aggrevated by her own faults and shortcomings. Thus, it led me to believe that theirs was simply the inevitable outcome of "the immovable force meeting the irresistable object" (R.I.P. Gorrila Monsoon, which my WWF/WWE fans would no doubt understand). It was the unavoidable roadblock in their path that cause these series of reactions from both parties. But I can't help but feel that I'm playing a hand in this now.
 For the longest time, I've always been a proponent to "shit-face therapy". This is the act of taking a highly susceptible individual and introducting a staggering amount of acohol into their system, in hopes of neutralizing their inhibitions enough for them to fully express how they feel, instead of holding it in and repressing it to the point where they just might explode, in an avalance of emotion and lashing that would, in all likelyhood, cause more damage than good, create more problems than solutions. And while it did work to the point that my friend did "get it off his chest", I can't help but find myself worried.
 After his tirade, my friend slumped on my sofa and allowed his intoxication to run its course, but before that, he brought something to my attention. He simply asked a question. A simple question, admittedly, but one I had no answer for. He inquired "what am I supposed to do now"? And for the life of me, I didn't have an answer.
 As I write this, staring at his snoring "corpse", his rhytmic exhalation reminding me that he hadn't died in his sleep (though when he wakes up tomorrow morning, he'll probably wish he had), I find myself pondering that same question.
 I've always supported alcohol in the sense that, not only has it lowered one's restrictions in regard to accord and protocol, but it has given one the courage to say what they truly feel, to simply spit out their emotions. But, like most things, it is simply a band-aid cure. This is because, it doesn't propose a solution to the problem at hand, it doesn't provides an alternative to the list of possible pathways available. It simply adds more variables to the equation, that being "one person is unhappy, how does one fix that"??
 In short, it doesn't solve the problem, it just kills the pain, albeit briefly. And while I'm all for temporary "emotional euthanasia", I can't help but wonder if there's more to it?? I, for one, have had my share of alcohol-fuelled tirade, to which many friends have been a witness to, and occassionally a target of, but I have never stopped to wonder just where that has gotten me, what it has actually achieved? And while I would never fix something that was not broken, I am curious about how effective this really is?
 The Japanese have always had a saying, "fix the problem, not the blame". As relatively easy a concept though it may be, it has never been so elemantary to comprehend. How do you fix something when you don't know where the problem originated? And even if you did, where do you go from there? Is there ever really a compromise that will satisfy both parties? Can both sides be happy, even if in the long run, somebody has to lose?
 As I listen to my friend's "night chirping" (another slang in my vicinity's dialect), I find myself worrying for him, curious as to what the future holds in store for him and his special someone, considering the lengthy exchange that they held over the phone. I can only hope all's well that ends well.
 But, I keep asking myself, does the bottle help? Perhaps not, but barring divine intervention and sudden personal revelations, what other options are available, especially concerning matters of the heart? As another local once confided in me, "drinking doesn't help, we know that.......but it sure beats a night alone". And while my intelligence can't help but find fault in that logic, deep down, I can't help but agree. Its not the best answer for a problem, but these days, I can't think of a better one.