I have a short, odd story, called "Me and Drunk Me," up at Thieve's Jargon.
Here's the opening:
Drunk Me is completely misunderstood. He's killing Sober Me, people say, literally drowning me in Irish whiskey, German beer, and Italian wine. I hear the whispers: he's the reason things went bad with Stacey, why I can't finish the novel and haven't placed a story in a year and a half, why I'm on this bullshit "probation" thing at work.
But they don't understand. We have a symbiotic relationship. Yin and Yang. Chang and Eng. An action and an equal and opposite reaction. Me and Drunk Me are made for each other. We are soul mates.
