Consequences…

You marvel at the little things you notice.
The way your ankles flip-flop as you walk. The clicking sound your heals make as they unstick from the tiles with each step. The way your tendons protrude from your feet and disappear every time you move. The inky tattoo of nightclub admission stamps, permanently staining your right inner-arm. The way your fingernails glow purple as you clutch the bourbon bottle so tightly it might fuse with your skin. The perfect rippling of the water in the toilet bowl…
You marvel at the little things you notice. And then you marvel at the fact that you only marvel at these things when your blood alcohol level is soaring.

And suddenly you know what it is to be your mother. Because you've become her.