Rough Morning (a short fictional story)

I woke up this morning, but it wasn't easy. My breath made me sick and my feet hurt. I eventually found my self in the kitchen and, after some struggling i managed to light the filter end of my cigarette. I didn't notice the smell of burning fiberglass cigarette filter. I was busy fixing breakfast. I cut my finger opening my morning bottle of cheap beer. I considered cursing at the bloody mess but I stopped when I saw a letter from Jackie. Jackie is my girl, sometimes. I didn't bother reading her scribbled letter before i tossed it in the trash. I already knew what it said. She was leaving again, this time was probably for good again. I vaugely remember the argument with Jackie that preceded her predictable response. Jackie's always been an expert dramatist. Dripping with tears and tossing out random insults in my direction before storming out of my apartment was her favorite scene. I'm almost certain it was the same argument we have at least three times a week. At least that often Jackie chooses to accuse me of being an alchoholic. I always tell her the same thing in a rehearsed line that indicates i'm correcting her sarcastically. "I am a recovering alchoholic sweetie pie. I'm recovering from all the years i spent sober, working a dead end job, while you were out every night blowing every doorman with an eight ball." She never appreciates my sense of humor.