I started Scar Tissue last weekend. After a few days of reading about the prodigious drug-taking behaviour of Mr A. Kiedis – first spliff at 12; cocaine at 14 (via a needle, no less!); heroin, ah, I lost track; alcohol was merely a minor interest – and we hadn’t even gotten to the music yet! – I was exhausted!
I only mention this because the thought struck me this morning that my self-imposed non-alcohol periods seem to coincide with reading or viewing which features the extremes in human behaviour and, specifically, the consumption of intoxicating substances.
And I’m feeling the weekend nudging me a little in the side. Time to remind myself: I’ll be good. I’ll be very, very, good. My hair is straight, not curly, therefore I don’t have a curl right in the middle of my forehead. Therefore, I think I’m safe. (Do these self-pep talks work, generally, I wonder…?)
Listening: Interlude With Ludes by Them Crooked Vultures
I’m doing July sans alcool in support of the Hub who is doing the same and aiming to raise money for a cancer charity or hospital or somesuch.
The thing about the Dry July arrangement is that donors can buy a dry participant a ‘Golden Ticket’ which allows them a day off. So say someone who is a weekend-only drinker gets three or four golden tickets, it means he can use a ticket a week or thereabouts during July. The result of which is that it’s hardly doing the month dry at all.
Or am I missing something here? I guess it only really makes a huge difference to the DJ participant’s lifestyle and habits if he is a daily or almost-daily drinker. I know the point is raising money – worthy! no argument there -, but as someone who has recently done three dry months with no get-outs, golden or otherwise, I can’t help but feel it’s a bit like cheating.
Listening: Green by Regular John
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.
Here’s the thing. I’m a couple of weeks or so to the end of the month… And I’m getting nervous.
Shouldn’t I be jubilant about making it to the end of the quarter? Or excited about the prospect of being able to imbibe once again? The money, the bet, the $500 – shouldn’t I be rejoicing about that at least?
All I can think about is the fact that I won’t have the excuse to politely decline that glass any more. And how comforting it has been to be safely wrapped up in the blanket of abstention. Oh, it’s been liberating to be cloaked in that reason/excuse. (Yes, I know it’s odd.)
… As I said, my imminent return to the Drinksville is making me nervous. Wait a minute, don’t people “have a drink” to relax themselves sometimes? Oh dear.
I won’t lie, I very nearly came unstuck yesterday afternoon. The Hub had opened a bottle of something red from Italy and it smelt simply wondrous. Mind you, I’m not normally a red wine drinker, but I really wanted some at that moment. I didn’t, though, I’m relieved to say, but I was still thinking about it this morning (and now! — because I’ve just had dinner) which just goes to show the funny stuff that goes on in one’s head in prohibition-style circumstances. But for now, I remain on track.
I’ve observed that some people are unnecessarily offended when someone (OK, it was me) says, “I’ll have a mineral water.” It’s as though they feel that my choice not to have A Drink, is me saying, “I don’t like you.” Huh? How odd that my choice of non-alcoholic beverage is interpreted as being all about you, not me.
There have been moments when I’ve been tempted to mess with those minds and say, “Yes, it’s true. I’m not drinking alcohol because I think you’re a nitwit.”
Mainly it’s about not being a team player. “Do you think we should hire him? Do you think we could work with him? Do you think he’s a good guy? Is he someone you’d have a beer with?“
“She’s not drinking…” someone mutters, rolling his eyes, as if to say, “She’s not one of us.”
C’mon, it’s not like I said, “I’m not drinking which means you can’t either,” but seriously, going by some responses, you’d think I had indeed imposed just such a rule. Puh-leeze!
Listening to: Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross’ The Social Network soundtrack. (I’ve been obsessed with this album of late.)
It’s Saturday night. And I’m at home alone… not drinking. Watching Rake, which is possibly one of the dumber choices a person who is abstaining could make. The main protagonist drinks, snorts, fucks like there’s no tomorrow. After watching two episodes earlier, I found myself rationalising: “We agreed no alcohol until 1 April, but we never said any other substances. Maybe…? OK… Maybe not. [SIGH]” (Meanwhile, inside my head: stir-crazy.)
So. It’s Saturday night. I’m at home. Alone. Not drinking.