04.07.13

Scar Tssue

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…?)

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Listening: Interlude With Ludes by Them Crooked Vultures

02.07.13

empty glass

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.

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Listening: Green by Regular John

31.03.13

breakfast

You’d be rejoicing in slices of white nectarine and kibble mix for breakfast, too, if you’d had the evening I did yesterday.

Last night: a party on board a boat docked in Cockle Bay Wharf with a group of 55 to 60+ year olds plus my cousin-in-law (“Cuz”) and myself. He’d been invited by the boat’s owners, whom he’d met via another boat-owning couple. “Come along!” he’d suggested, and so I did.

I don’t quite know what I’d expected, but for some reason I’d thought everyone would be around ‘our’ age so it was a bit of surprise to be amongst the mature and/or semi-retired/retiree set. They were fun, though, I mean, they were really enjoying themselves – music pumping (I think it was WSFM), flowing Champagne (although not for yours truly), a seemingly non-stop abundance of food.

I couldn’t help but note that except for the age group, it was exactly like a gathering with my own friends. At the start of the evening, the men were at one end of the boat, and the women gathered at the other. As the night progressed, the groups started to mix around a bit more, with all the man/woman talk mostly out of the way.

And just like a party of my peers, there was the usual one or two who’d had a bit more than they should’ve. “I used to throw up, but now it just doesn’t go down and I can’t sleep all night,” one of the ladies said, “The reflux…!” “Oh, it’s so uncomfortable!” another exclaimed in agreement. And as for yet another woman, one minute she was fine, but the next time I looked over, she was swaying, slurring and sobbing into her glass. I swear, I might’ve shuddered a little but it gave me pause for thought: I hope I’m not like that when I get to that age.

I know, who am I to judge? I’ve had my share of alcohol/substance-influenced misadventures, screw-ups and tears before midnight. I’m just saying, it’s really rather awesome to feel in control. I also love the fact that getting a little bit messy is no longer an inevitability, and certainly, nor is The Morning After.

The hangovers – I’m not missing them at all. I’d be tucking into a big greasy fry-up and then going back to horizontal, and feeling really sorry for myself, rather than what I just had now. Fruit, nuts and seeds and, dare I say it, an insane urge to shout “WOOOHOOO!!” at no one in particular.

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Listening: U2 ~ I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For

27.03.13

reading and sipping

Some evenings, all you want to do is get home and veg out with some reading and a cuppa.

I missed all of the 29C Indian summer day today.

What’s new? (Jilll Stark’s book is excellent, by the way; I can relate to almost everything I’ve read so far. And I’m 80% certain I’m going to extend the non-drinking for at least another three months.)

 

26.03.13

vibrant

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.

16.03.13

vino?

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.

23.02.13

double Dom

News! The bet. The abstention. The self-imposed three month dry spell.

My colleague/bet-partner fell off the wagon this week! The admission came mid-week, mid-morning. Ah, he must’ve spent the first few hours of Wednesday morning deciding whether or not to tell me. Of maybe he was just busy. But confess he did.

“How did it taste?” was my first question.

“Bloody fantastic,” was the unequivocal reply. A wide grin to punctuate.

Ahh.

I’m still dry, in case you were wondering. I don’t get to keep the 500 unless I get to the end of March. So, I have about five weeks and a day to go. Not that I’m counting.

On 1 April or thereafter, I’m going to crack open one of these babies. Since Wednesday, I’ve been eyeing them up somewhat more enthusiastically every time I open the fridge, but that’s all. My eyes have been thirsty.