I’m Just Starting:
A Reluctant Criminal’s High Road to County Jail
By Andrea M Gilson
Copyright 2011 Andrea M. Gilson
Smashwords Edition
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Prologue
God does what he does in my life to serve my greater good to His purpose. Most often I do not know what He is doing, I trust that He does. Thanks be to God for these experiences. The people I encountered in jail made the adventure possible and I pray each has moved on to better circumstances.
I hope that my readers will be varied. It is my goal to give people hope if they are in similar situations and to have a point of reference of expectation. The body of the book deals with the crime and punishment turn that my life took for a few years of my mid-life. I have included appendixes to give further insight and help to the reader. Throughout the body stories are told and profiles of the main players in these stories are outlined in Appendix A. This is done so that the reader can either relate to them or better understand the phenomenon of crime. Appendix B gives personalities of the main officers that guarded and served us in the place I was held. This was included to offer respect for them and prove that officers are humans too. Some that read this book may be bitter toward the police and it is my goal to change that.
Whether my book is successful or not, my pages of hand-written notes will remain in my scrapbooks for years. Appendix C is the basic Gospel of Jesus Christ. I do not mean to exclude anyone that is of opposing faiths but it is my responsibility to tell others of Him who helped me through this adventure and through life. I certainly want others to gain the freedom that comes with trusting in Him. Appendix D is the twelve steps of Alcoholics Anonymous. Regardless of an individual’s faith, these steps are vital tools for living and for shrugging off the hells of addiction. Scripture verses are sprinkled within the text. This serves to show how God’s word can help people to cope and to edify them throughout life’s circumstances and to introduce those that are not familiar with the Bible to see for themselves that the content is varied and it is not at all boring.
Introduction
Sometimes good people use bad judgment. When they use bad judgment consistently, then they become bad people. The police, the court, and God worked together to stop this criminal from getting worse. Jail was one of those things that happened to other people, bad people. Alcohol played the main character in this saga. I let it for years. No more. I named this book what I did because bad behavior was not my environment throughout life and therefore, my criminal record was earned reluctantly. Indeed, after spending time in jail, I found that mine was the high road. Kind of like a high bottom. Going rather unknowingly and unwillingly down the bad road to worse fates, I emerged back on track to sobriety and respectability. Two DUI convictions landed me in jail. It was really the second that landed me in jail. But if I had not been guilty of the first misdemeanor, there would have been no accumulative offender troubles.
Of all the crimes committed among my pod-mates, DUI was the least frequent offense. It made me feel a little better. I am certainly not trying to say that DUI crimes are a light matter, only that those crimes were not conscious decisions and the types of crime I encountered in jail required forethought and planning. Included in these were bad check writing and counterfeiting. My decision to stop drinking alcohol will allow me to make conscious decisions in the future, hopefully ones that will please my God and earthy father especially.
Regret and guilt are useless emotions. Nonetheless, they play a role in most people’s life at some point. This story attempts to place the years of my early forties and when I earned the criminal record I now hold in perspective. It is ineligible to be sealed or removed. The seventy-five year time frame means that the crimes I committed will follow me wherever I go, forever. This story should never have happened. Life has a way of taking each of us down these roads though. I separate the book into sections hoping that the reader will read them in order, however; the details of the jail stay may have some turning to that section. It seems sensationalistic if you’ve never been. It was not unlike another adventure experience. I now can say, been there-done that. If it happened, I may as well put a positive spin on it, there’s no taking any of it back.
The memories of the experiences as a whole are meant to be therapeutic for me and can answer concerns to those that like me had no idea what to expect when my time came. I expect that within the binding of this book will be my entire criminal experience from start to finish. It was alright but like growing up in Buffalo, I am done with it.
This road was in Florida where the culture of those living close to the sea draws folks toward adopting an attitude of just have fun, its vacation, even if it isn’t. A humorous phrase kind of says it all, “Where the debris meets the sea.” This has become my go-to phrase for wanting to leave Florida. There is also the anecdote that Florida is the bilge of the nation. By looking at a map of the country, it is kind of fitting. I surely am insulting thousands of Florida residents with these past lines; I hope they can understand that this has only been my personal experience. It does explain why the police here are so zealous though, they must agree with me.
Years ago when I lived in Texas, I visited Daytona Beach while touring the western Florida coast by car. I was stopped for speeding and the officer was quite rude. I tried to joke with him that since I had just been at the track that I had the need for speed. Instead of smiling at my clever joke, he warned me that if I failed to pay the ticket that the state of Florida would find me in Texas and take my license. Welcome to Florida, how rude. This was my first encounter with the police anywhere and I had lived in other states so please let me vent off on the Florida system. I was very insulted. I was no criminal how dare he imply that I would be delinquent in my responsibility to pay. He assumed I was a criminal; they are used to the debris landing in Florida I reckon. I plan to leave Florida behind.
I chose to write this story or sequence of events really so that my readers can see that there is always the bright side of any circumstance. The events and characterization in this story are real. The names of the people I will introduce are made up by me for reasons which will become obvious since I plan to be frank. I want this story to be told, I want to get the fact that this happened to me off of my conscious, and I plan to make it entertaining.
With all of that introductory mumbo- jumbo taken care off, here is the short of it. I lived over forty years as a moderate, responsible, involved member of society. I was raised properly by a military father, to whom I owe the world. My upbringing helped me to see that I did not belong in jail as most of my pod-mates seemed to accept the situation as part of the norm. I learned about Christ young and loved him my whole life. I certainly made him frown a lot when I was putting more importance on having as much fun as possible in as little time as possible for the years I lived in Florida. In Florida that is what people do, they have fun. It is where people go to escape, right? Since I have been here though, it is interesting that almost everyone I talk to that is from elsewhere, they all want to leave. The people that were born and raised her seem to like it; they do not have anything to compare it to. It is depressing even though the sun is always out.
The police in the Sunshine State are not very forgiving, which I understand more than ever now after intimacy with the personality types they must deal with daily. My original ranting is tempered by my firsthand experience with other people that live here and keep the police busy and surely at their wit’s end. They take their job seriously and I am grateful that they arrested me when I drove around my city rather unconsciously; I reckon, if the BAC (Blood Alcohol Content) is any real indicator. After my public defender advised me to accept the state’s sentence of thirty days in jail, I did just that. The alternative would have been wearing a bracelet around my ankle and not leaving the house. I thought that would be dreadful and strangely considered a month in the county jail as a type of adventure. It was exactly that but not at all what I had expected. I had asked anyone I could to give me the low-down but I do not know any criminals so no one knew anything. That statement may be a denial since I did glean tips from somewhere. I must have known someone who knew. I was loved at work so the absence there was worked out fine, as a matter of fact; my generous boss wrote a letter to my judge asking for clemency since I was vital to him. The judge did not think so and that was that. The judges are limited in a lot of cases. Punishment for a DUI crime is often not in the judge’s hands to decide. I served the state-mandatory required time for my act. Still, I could not believe that I was officially a criminal. How crass.
Daddy was quite supportive and took my news with a good attitude. Of course, I tried to keep it from him like I have done with other shameful events in my past. After it happened and we would speak on the phone and he asked me if anything was new, I would just give him the sedate details of my days skimming over the big news. His voice each time he asked caused me to think that he might be onto me, so I told him finally. As I suspected, he already knew. The news got through to him through my sister. Blimy, I thought my secrets were safe with her. Thankfully many still are. Not this time. Even with his middle daughter now a jail-time serving criminal, Daddy is proud of me for the other things I have done positively in my life. He reminds me each time I talk to him and I consider things I do more heavily now knowing I have to make this story up to him.
The jail stay was only a fraction of the many penalties I was faced with but I systematically submitted to them until I was free from my probation a year later. Even more harrowing was the fact that I lost my driver’s license for five years. Already cozily accustomed to going without a car for so long, I wonder what the big deal is. I have made friends with the bus system and lost tons of weight riding my bike. The environment is happy with me too. But again, this story teller will try to disregard the Florida legal system at large except where the hands-on experience calls the officers and procedures of the county jail into memory.
In a way I was graced, God did not abandon me. Even though he was disappointed like my daddy, he supported me through the challenges. I was in the middle of the college semester. At my initial court date, an agreement was made between the court and my public defender that I would remain free until after I finished this coursework and then turn myself in officially at that time. I did have to pass on a summer class which put me behind enough to miss the graduation ceremony one year later but I got my degree, just a few months late is all. I blame that just as much on my advisors false curriculum promises as the missed summer class. Like I already mentioned, everything happens for a reason that God knows about. I do not necessarily have to know what He is doing. My spring grades did suffer a bit because of the stress but not bad enough to damage my GPA. Anyway, May 15th arrived in no time.
I sort of treated it like a vacation. I arranged for a neighbor to get my mail and water my plants. My date of reckoning arrived and I woke up with a tinge of fear but dressed to impress the judge and look like the non-criminal that I was/am. I wore my Roswell shoes in case they got lost in the shuffle. The Roswell shoes should have been discarded long ago but they are still by my door being used regularly. I bought them in Roswell, New Mexico after my hiking shoes proved painful. Now they held souvenir value, plus they were comfortable. The seams are ripping, they are badly scuffed and they have black fire damage streaks on them. I am moving to Oregon in a few months and am undecided if I should finally part with them. I was over-joyed when I slid them back onto my feet after the days of assigned footwear inside.
Still, even with a record and a history of jail time, I do not believe I am a criminal. I was basically unconscious when I drove around oblivious. So I guess I am a subconscious criminal. The whole event scared me quite badly into realizing I had been endangering innocents unknowingly. This story and the stigma I personally feel because of it ensure that I will do no more crimes, consciously or not. To guarantee it, I have put the pleasures of imbibing aside. I know there really can be no guarantee in life about anything but I will do my part to lower the chances of crime sneaking up on me unawares. I had to squash the phrase I spoke to my pod-mates in my first minutes with them that “I’m just starting.” Good grief, I thought, why in the world would I say that. I don’t want that to end up being some obscure prophesy. So I will certainly also be “Just ending”- my criminal career- upon my release.
The start
Chapter One
A normal person may have grasped that it was not necessarily normal to grab a six-pack of beer before the party started. Thinking about it now, it probably would sound normal to the group of people I had made my circle at this point. I drank a can of beer on the drive home to get changed, while showering, and finished one off in the parking lot before going in. Well, just a few hours earlier while finishing up my duties at work, my friend asked if I planned on getting drunk that night. My answer was “Hell yeah.” Why did this sound right to me? Simple, for a period of some years I loved alcohol more than common sense. The party was great. I felt a little worried when I first went in and greeted my big boss. I had enough already but enjoyed more beer during the party and after. At least I gorged on the buffet which was a blessing. A part of my crime the second time was not eating a morsel before or while imbibing, very stupid.
Noticing that my favorite place to have a beer(s) with friends had cleared out, I asked Bill, my friend and co-worker what time it was getting to be. “One-thirty,” we both said in unison once he pulled up his sleeve to expose his wrist. Since we both had to be at work in six hours, we left quickly. A Christmas party earlier in the evening was the usual obligatory socializing and many of my friends had wanted to stay out.
We headed off. He made it to work, I did not. I now know that the most common reasons the police stop people late at night is because they either do not have their lights on or they are speeding. I was guilty of trying to get home to bed as fast as possible. I suppose the police have a habit of waiting outside of popular drinking holes when it is close to last call to get people like me off the street. This is what happened to me. I had just pulled out, made my right turn and drove about a quarter mile before the police scared me to death with their bubble lights. They gave me just enough time to start speeding home and boom.
I drank lite beer that night and I do not know how many. I told the officers it was about fifteen and they were incredulous. I believe it was right on. They asked me if there was anything in my car that they should know about. I told them there was a cooler in the back with some beer in it. Who but a person with an alcohol problem has beer at the ready in a cooler in the car? I thought I was smart in never having open containers in my car. I had always been a stickler for that. It was really just God looking out for me knowing I was in enough trouble already. My friends thought this truthful disclosure was hilarious.
I failed the roadside test and did not think anyone could do the feats they required. At the time I thought I had done okay following the pen with my eyes and touching my nose with my finger from first one side and then the other. It was the standing on one foot (impossible) and walking the line with one foot placed flush in front of the other that betrayed my condition. Some people thought I should have used my former stroke as an excuse for failing these tests. While it is true, I have balance issues because of it- that did not help me later with the BAC. I did not think of my medical history at that time anyway, I had more important things on my mind like, “where are they taking my car?”
I did not have to blow into a breathalyzer yet. They wanted to wait until the booze hit my system real well before testing me. I really do not know why they waited, that was my guess. Before long I was sitting in a squad car watching a tow truck pull my car away. This was a trauma. I was polite but nearly panicked wondering what would happen to my car. These officers were helpful, they had written the name of the company on a card and placed it in my purse so I could figure it out the next day. I was above the legal limit to be driving but was coherent-enough to remember and quite cooperative if not confused. As we drove away and headed farther away from familiar streets, I told the police that if it was all the same to them, they could just drop me at a cheap motel so that I could walk to work in the morning. I did not get it. It did not dawn on me for a long time that they were taking me to spend the night in jail. Next thing I knew, we headed onto the freeway. I remember asking many times, “Where are we going?” We seemed to drive forever. I blankly stared out the rear window watching the pavement race away from me.
I think it was clear to these cops that I was a novice criminal. Genuine confusion gripped me. I had no idea what was going on. I am sure the night’s drinking did not help. The officers that [helped me] were polite. They took me into a small room where a young complaining man was spewing expletives. I had to sit next to him. His ranting made me insane and I told him to just get a grip already. I was pretty brave. Twice I looked at him and scolded him for his behavior. Was I subconsciously trying to make brownie points? A female officer had to go with me to the toilet. Worse, she had to unbuckle my belt since I was cuffed. The cuffs hurt my wrists. I wish I would have remembered that better.
No road side breathalyzer test was given but now I moved to a private desk with a big officer asking me questions. He taught me how to blow into the device. It reminded me of the device patients blow into at the hospital to test their breathing force. I gave it my all, I think he thought I over did it like I was trying to blow down the house. I probably did this as a flashback from the many times I had to prove to the nurses in the hospital how ready I was to go home. At this point, he told me that I would have my license taken away for at least six months. Until this time I was sad but reserved. With the new development, I burst into tears. Generally quite unemotional, this reminded me of the time at the flight academy when they informed me that my base assignment would be JFK airport in New York. I had gone through the process to get to a warmer climate. New York was the last choice on my preference list. I burst into tears. It did not happen very often.
This made my arrest photo very attractive with black mascara raccoon eyes. When I got back to my life, I couldn’t believe (I really could) that my friends had been laughing at my mug shot the whole time. One of my closest friends even put it on his phone so that it came up when I called him. How compassionate they all were.
After I finished in this area, I moved to the county holding center. I do not think we drove anywhere new; it is amazing how multi- functional the complex is. This giant room of diverse folk held the people that broke the law and were arrested that night. Rows upon rows of seats attached to the floor occupied the main section in the middle of the room. Along the edges were offices for further processing like medical and ID badges. There were more but those were the only two I got subjected to this night. Overseeing officers stood against the wall only breaking their post to chit-chat with the others or lead a group of inmates into a further abyss. Circular phone stations were near the restrooms. Only the seasoned could figure out how to use the phones. Twice I went to them and attempted to make a call, no good. I was a holding-center phone idiot.
It was cold and I was not allowed to lie down but had to remain sitting. It might have been worse. I was grateful that I am a conservative dresser. Long pants and long sleeves saved me from hypothermia. Part of the entertainment was getting my inmate identification badge, talking to medical personnel, and getting fed two peanut butter and honey sandwiches. They were great. I honestly had never had a peanut butter and honey sandwich before. It must be a southern thing.
I did not inform anyone about my plight until I was released. At one point, a judge told me from a TV screen that I could go home on my own recognizance. He looked over his notes and asked me in statement form, “You have never been arrested before.” I simply said, “No.” I was suddenly very ashamed of myself for getting into trouble for the first time at age forty-one. Chivalry was alive in the court. Even though several men had been seated in the room prior to our entering, the women got first priority with the judge. It was a challenge to all involved when an inmate did not understand or speak English. Interpreters were summoned and we moved forward.
We filed from the smaller room and I was sent back into the big room where everyone waited to hear what would imminently become their fate. I commiserated with those near me. I found that most of them knew exactly what to expect and made this journey frequently. They reassured me after I recounted my circumstances to them.
I was released uneventfully with my purse restored to me. I did not notice until much (days) later that my license had been removed from my wallet stealthily. I was offended at this. Why didn’t they just ask me to turn it over or at least tell me that they had gone through my stuff? Oh yeah, I was a criminal now with no rights. I had not forgotten what the man at the desk had said about losing my privilege, but did not expect them to lift my property. That might have been a wrongful assumption now that I recall. Maybe it was only on loan to me as long as I was not a law-breaker. Aha, it all makes sense now. Even so, I felt the police were sneaky. I learned that even though I did not think of myself as a criminal, they certainly did.
I do not know how much time I spent getting processed but I know I was arrested about 1:30am and when I was picked up by one of my friends it was the next evening about 7:00pm. Bad at math, I suppose that is about eighteen hours altogether. Leaving the building behind me when I exited, I was disoriented. I got scolded for not going the right way as if I knew where I was. I was no professional criminal; I was just starting. My buddy Jay graciously fetched me from the courthouse (not so affectionately called, The Court Hotel) and let me talk his ear off as he drove me home. Looking at the name of the company that had towed my car away several hours earlier, I recognized the name as a friend’s family business. I quickly called this man- the same person that asked me the evening prior if I had planned on getting drunk at the party. He sympathized with me for a while but told me that his folks no longer owned that automobile shop. I was out of luck.
It was a hunt the next day to secure my car back to me even though I knew where it was. I went immediately to the impound yard and saw my car behind the lock in. The owner was nice but sent me to the police station for some documentation. When I went in there I felt really ignored. I stood at the glass window waiting for attention for what seemed like forever. Of course, this was my faulty perspective. I wanted my car back. According to my ticket, I had ten days to drive. I lived on the bus line at this time (and miraculously the second time) making my transportation problems greatly reduced. This was so clearly the work of God as to be impossible to deny. I move apartments often and both times I was arrested for DUI and without personal transportation, the bus stop was mere steps from my door. No coincidence. God loves me and so do my friends.
I learned that I had many friends when I no longer could drive. They were available to take me where I needed to go and the obligations that pile up from the conviction never seemed to end. A funny thing about the whole ordeal was that the authorities knew that if you had a DUI you probably were not driving yet they make it so that every different part of the loose ends to be tied up to satisfy the punishment had to be taken care of at all opposite sides and directions within the county. I am sure that the county and the public bus system are in cahoots with one another.
Here is what my punishment ended up as. I accepted later as the reader will find that these steps were nothing but an inconvenience in the larger picture: loss of driver privilege for six months, probation for one year, $600 fine, and fifty hours of community service, a DUI safety council course, ten weeks of counseling, and car impound for one week. The cost was substantial. Probation alone cost $50 for every visit. The impound was the most harrowing punishment I endured. Others got out of this hellish procedure by claiming that another person relied on their car for transportation. I alone used my car and since I do not lie, I had to go through with it. My honesty had caused me to shoot myself in the foot at other times in my life as well. I know that if I had lied, I would get punished two fold for my trouble by God.
The sheriff’s office had to affix a glaring orange sticker to the rear window of my car and it had to be parked (by someone else, since I could not drive) and not moved for an entire week. The car had to be brought to the sheriff’s office for the operation so I had to enlist someone to drive my car there. I learned while being processed (I hate that phrase) that my registration was missing. This was a true snag. When I bought my car, the dealer said they would handle the registration and they did-almost. I never received a piece of paper to keep in my wallet like I did in other states. I always wondered about that. In reality I should have had one as the sheriff now delayed by progress because of it. Nor was there a sticker in my window, just on the rear plate. My poor unsuspecting friend now wasted more of his day driving me all over the place to replace my missing registration paper. Nothing went smoothly it seemed. I could tell he was flustered but he was a good sport.
It just so happened that I could not even back the car up against the bushes which was my first agenda. I was scolded recently from others at the condo because they had a stupid rule (one among many) that said everyone had to part uniformly nose in. Surveillance of the impound was threatened, so I did what the police wanted and all of my neighbors in the condo building that I lived in were privy to my DUI arrest. I can picture a gossipy group of them standing by my car while I was at work reading the small print. On the seventh day, I went out in the rain, in the dark with a blade to remove it. To me at that point, it never happened. The sticker was gone? What sticker? I am sure everyone in that building had a cocktail party to celebrate when I moved out.
I enjoyed my community service more than I should have. I made and served food at an American Legion post. I never had so much free food. I took stacks of containers home every Friday and Saturday. It was hardly punishment; we had a blast working in that kitchen. Sadly, just a few months later one of the men I volunteered with died. I do not know the circumstances but he was very young. I suspect that he did not give up his addictive lifestyle and fell further into the abyss. I think this because a few others that I have known through the AA program that were healthy except for their relapses also died too young. I have good memories of him from the kitchen.
qualified for a hardship license since I worked full-time and I also attended college full time. So I really was without my license for only a month. The hardship replacement cost over $200 and it had to be paid in cash. Ever without cash, I had to find an ATM machine nearby while the overseer waited. The compact long-haired woman had eternal patience and I liked her because she granted my request. If she had wanted to she could have made me return on a different day with the cash, she was the understanding type. Who carried cash nowadays? My new license arrived in the mail with a new indicator on it. It said ‘business purposes’ only and the date that its full privilege would kick in. I was surprised to learn that when the months expired that I could get a replacement without the indicator for no cost. This is the first time anything official would be offered at no cost. I never got it changed anyway.
Probation was no problem. Bill who had been with me the night of my arrest helped me get to the appointments. It was funny watching him try to plug the address into his car’s GPS. By the time he figured it out, we were there. My boss allowed a flexible schedule so I did not have to haggle with my probation officer about appointment dates made in advance.
At the first session, myself and others were shown a video and listened to a lecture about the probation process. After that I simply had to show up and pay my money, get an appointment for the next month and that was it. My probation was based on my finishing all of the stipulations of my punishments and was able to get reduced in time if I was vigilant. I was and my probation self-terminated after six months. It was probably more painful for my friend that acted as my chauffeur. I had not yet become fully intimate with the county public bus.
There was the DUI offender counseling session. It was a weekend class lasting twelve hours. It was close to home. A police officer taught the class. We watched many movies and had to take a breathalyzer each day right after lunch. It was amazing that people actually got caught drinking when they were here to straighten out a substance abuse conviction. These are the ones with real trouble. There was a woman in my class that seemed so frazzled and incoherent that I could not believe it when she passed the breath test. She might have had a mental condition because she was like a lunatic. She seemed wasted on drugs to me.
After the certificate was granted that I finished the course, I had to undertake an evaluation to decide whether or not further counseling was needed. The beige certificate looks like a diploma worthy of framing. Some day as a joke maybe I will take this one and my second one and add them to my office wall with my legitimate degrees and accomplishment diplomas. If the observer doesn’t look to close, maybe I will just appear more scholarly for the quantity of framed accomplishments. To my surprise, the interviewer sentenced me to ten weeks of additional counseling. I did not see that coming. It would cost thirty-five dollars each time. It is hard not to imagine the whole situation as a conspiracy for the county and affiliates to make money. In reality, the lady that sent me to further classes saw into my soul, because given the continuing saga, she saw the truth.
Thinking about all the stress I put myself through at the time, it was really nothing. In time, I carelessly drank and drove again.
Chapter Two
Since I am getting all of my brushes with the law out of the way in one full sweep, I should recount the drunken walking episode. I was not quite as cooperative this time. After my DUI, I wanted nothing to do with drinking- for a few months. Then the rules I laid out became laxer and laxer for myself. I would stick to only three beers if I went out with my friends. Years earlier I had decided to drink only beer when in public; this was because I used to love red wine. I would be falling off of stools and my friends had to grudgingly baby-sit me. The embarrassment led me to set the beer only rule for myself. I thought that would keep me out of trouble. I kept that rule for a long time but in the end it failed. I know now that I had developed a real problem with alcohol and it was going to tell me what to do.
Written mainly by the wise man Solomon, the scriptural book of Proverbs addresses the power of alcohol’s influence. “Who hath woe? Who hath sorrow? Who hath contentions? Who hath babbling? Who hath wounds without cause? Who hath redness of eyes? 29 They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine.30 Look not thou upon the wine when it is red, when it giveth his color in the cup, when it moveth itself aright. 31 At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder.32 Thine eyes shall behold strange women, and thine heart shall utter perverse things. 33 Yea, though shalt be as he that lieth down in the midst of the sea or as he that lieth upon the top of a mast. 34 They have stricken me, shalt thou say, and I was not sick, they have beaten me, and I felt it not; when shall I awake? I will seek it yet again35 (Proverbs 23:29-35 KJV). The oblivion of drunkenness is a strong lure that often causes one to return time and again despite the consequences.