It was the old proposition. The more I drank, the more I was compelled to drink in order to get an effect. The time came when cocktails3 were inadequate4. I had neither the time in which to drink them nor the space to accommodate them. Whisky had a more powerful jolt5. It gave quicker action with less quantity. Bourbon or rye, or cunningly aged6 blends, constituted the pre-midday drinking. In the late afternoon it was Scotch7 and soda8.
My sleep, always excellent, now became not quite so excellent. I had been accustomed to read myself back asleep when I chanced to awake. But now this began to fail me. When I had read two or three of the small hours away and was as wide awake as ever, I found that a drink furnished the soporific effect. Sometimes two or three drinks were required.
So short a period of sleep then intervened before early morning rising that my system did not have time to work off the alcohol. As a result I awoke with mouth parched9 and dry, with a slight heaviness of head, and with a mild nervous palpitation in the stomach. In fact I did not feel good. I was suffering from the morning sickness of the steady, heavy drinker. What I needed was a pick-me-up, a bracer. Trust John Barleycorn, once he has broken down a man's defences! So it was a drink before breakfast to put me right for breakfast—the old poison of the snake that has bitten one! Another custom begun at this time was that of the pitcher10 of water by the bedside to furnish relief to my scorched11 and sizzling membranes12.
I achieved a condition in which my body was never free from alcohol. Nor did I permit myself to be away from alcohol. If I travelled to out-of-the-way places, I declined to run the risk of finding them dry. I took a quart, or several quarts, along in my grip. In the past I had been amazed by other men guilty of this practice. Now I did it myself unblushingly. And when I got out with the fellows, I cast all rules by the board. I drank when they drank, what they drank, and in the same way they drank.
I was carrying a beautiful alcoholic13 conflagration14 around with me. The thing fed on its own heat and flamed the fiercer. There was no time, in all my waking time, that I didn't want a drink. I began to anticipate the completion of my daily thousand words by taking a drink when only five hundred words were written. It was not long until I prefaced the beginning of the thousand words with a drink.
The gravity of this I realised too well. I made new rules. Resolutely15 I would refrain from drinking until my work was done. But a new and most diabolical16 complication arose. The work refused to be done without drinking. It just couldn't be done. I had to drink in order to do it. I was beginning to fight now. I had the craving17 at last, and it was mastering me. I would sit at my desk and dally18 with pad and pen, but words refused to flow. My brain could not think the proper thoughts because continually it was obsessed19 with the one thought that across the room in the liquor cabinet stood John Barleycorn. When, in despair, I took my drink, at once my brain loosened up and began to roll off the thousand words.
In my town house, in Oakland, I finished the stock of liquor and wilfully20 refused to purchase more. It was no use, because, unfortunately, there remained in the bottom of the liquor cabinet a case of beer. In vain I tried to write. Now beer is a poor substitute for strong waters: besides, I didn't like beer, yet all I could think of was that beer so singularly accessible in the bottom of the cabinet. Not until I had drunk a pint21 of it did the words begin to reel off, and the thousand were reeled off to the tune22 of numerous pints23. The worst of it was that the beer caused me severe heart-burn; but despite the discomfort24 I soon finished off the case.
The liquor cabinet was now bare. I did not replenish25 it. By truly heroic perseverance26 I finally forced myself to write the daily thousand words without the spur of John Barleycorn. But all the time I wrote I was keenly aware of the craving for a drink. And as soon as the morning's work was done, I was out of the house and away down-town to get my first drink. Merciful goodness!—if John Barleycorn could get such sway over me, a non-alcoholic, what must be the sufferings of the true alcoholic, battling against the organic demands of his chemistry while those closest to him sympathise little, understand less, and despise and deride27 him!
点击收听单词发音
1 ranch | |
n.大牧场,大农场 | |
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2 jingle | |
n.叮当声,韵律简单的诗句;v.使叮当作响,叮当响,押韵 | |
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3 cocktails | |
n.鸡尾酒( cocktail的名词复数 );餐前开胃菜;混合物 | |
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4 inadequate | |
adj.(for,to)不充足的,不适当的 | |
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5 jolt | |
v.(使)摇动,(使)震动,(使)颠簸 | |
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6 aged | |
adj.年老的,陈年的 | |
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7 scotch | |
n.伤口,刻痕;苏格兰威士忌酒;v.粉碎,消灭,阻止;adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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8 soda | |
n.苏打水;汽水 | |
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9 parched | |
adj.焦干的;极渴的;v.(使)焦干 | |
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10 pitcher | |
n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐;(棒球)投手 | |
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11 scorched | |
烧焦,烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 ); 使(植物)枯萎,把…晒枯; 高速行驶; 枯焦 | |
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12 membranes | |
n.(动物或植物体内的)薄膜( membrane的名词复数 );隔膜;(可起防水、防风等作用的)膜状物 | |
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13 alcoholic | |
adj.(含)酒精的,由酒精引起的;n.酗酒者 | |
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14 conflagration | |
n.建筑物或森林大火 | |
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15 resolutely | |
adj.坚决地,果断地 | |
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16 diabolical | |
adj.恶魔似的,凶暴的 | |
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17 craving | |
n.渴望,热望 | |
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18 dally | |
v.荒废(时日),调情 | |
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19 obsessed | |
adj.心神不宁的,鬼迷心窍的,沉迷的 | |
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20 wilfully | |
adv.任性固执地;蓄意地 | |
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21 pint | |
n.品脱 | |
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22 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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23 pints | |
n.品脱( pint的名词复数 );一品脱啤酒 | |
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24 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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25 replenish | |
vt.补充;(把…)装满;(再)填满 | |
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26 perseverance | |
n.坚持不懈,不屈不挠 | |
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27 deride | |
v.嘲弄,愚弄 | |
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