I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can go back to the booze (last day of abstention being 31 March now looming). I’m not ready. Not just yet.
If you could get into my head, you might begin to understand.
It feels too amazing right now. Things are sharper and brighter, and I do realise how strange that sounds, trust me. But they are.
I love waking up clear-headed on the weekend. I wake early all the time now. I do stuff. I walk, I run. Or I might do nothing much at all. But all of that is better than waking up with a sore head and pretending I’m fine (“I’m not hungover, just a bit dusty…”) when what I really feel is miserable, rotten, regretful, sorry for myself or all of the above.
Now, if I could just re-programme my brain so that I don’t get annoyed by the small things.