Day 23 and I’d like to be in a calmer place, but I’m still having these wretched conversations with myself about when/how I can drink again, sometime in the future. It’s annoying. I was so grateful for people’s comments yesterday (and every day!), and their ideas were good. They know, and I know, that drinking again is not a good idea, not if I want to have a happy life.
Lovely Bea at besoberbea wrote a timely post about the reality of drinking as opposed to the alluring image of it we have in our minds. She reminded me of the good things we achieve when we’re sober, all the things we get done, and when I look back at my weekend, at the last 23 days, I can see that my family’s world has been a calmer place with a clear-headed me in it. And yet, for some extraordinary, irrational reason, I find myself mulling over the alternative. One of the things I think I’m missing is chewing the fat with my husband over a bottle of wine, the way one can linger and talk. Meals seem quite hurried now, and because I’m so alert I dive into the washing up minutes after eating and do all sorts of other organized things before bedtime. It’s not very relaxing.
It makes me think of stilettos: I think they’re glamorous to wear, and for about 20 seconds they look good at the beginning of a party, but then they hurt and you want to take them off and be in bare feet. And nobody notices anyway. And if you are determined to wear them for the duration of the party, and for every party after that, you end up with bunions. And then it’s not so easy to get your perfect feet back.