I may or may not be addicted to Ginger Ale
The only non-diet soda I will drink? Ginger Ale.
Favourite Canadian Brand? Canada Dry. Ginger Ale.
The only product I buy from unethical companies? Ginger Ale.
I can see my life ahead of me consisting of hunger, struggles for love, work, writing, and Ginger Ale. I work a 12 hour job and come home to a home empty of companionship but filled to the brink with Ginger Ale. I sleep in a bed alone, smelling like shampoo, cheap soap, and Ginger Ale. One day I find a nice girl in a bar I sometimes visit; she is drinking wine and I am drinking Ginger Ale. What should have been a one night stand blossoms, not like a rose but a Dahlia, into horrible attraction and love, as I always sip my Ginger Ale. She works all day so we rarely see each other, both of us needing the money for our ambitions…and Ginger Ale. She needs a man, she says, who has a career, direction, not a starving artist obsessed with reading, writing, and Ginger Ale. She leaves. I Drink. I write:
“She was only one of many woman who broke my heart. I remember each one alongside a memory of an object. My college crush had her yellow binders. A fellow writer who left for Europe had red raincoat. A woman I met on the subway had a beautiful advertisement behind her when we met. For this lady, she had Ginger Ale. I was always drinking Ginger Ale when we met in bars and in my Ginger Ale filled house.
She had Ginger hair, as vibrant and fiery passion for life and her ambitions. She was sometimes bubbly, always sweet. I remember her most wearing green…
I have a bottle on my desk right now, filled with my drink, and I can only feel sadness as I drink it. I feel nothing but sadness, see nothing but tears, and taste nothing but sweet, sweet Ginger Ale.”