It was hard to call it a habit, it was more like a springboard from everyday life. There were times when she did not touch the Firewhiskey, because she simply did not want to do anything but sleep. Sometimes she could spend the whole weekend buried in a blanket, with a book and a glass of the amber liquid. On some occasions she could be found in the kitchen with tears in her eyes and a tumbler of the alcohol on the table, which was later emptied in two gulps. Sometimes she did not even use a glass, just drank from the bottle.