07:18. Hi everyone… wanted to give a little update. I know I’ve been a bit absent on this blog. I don’t know how to manage all the blogs (newsflash: digital minimalism still not achieved). I just go with the flow and post (or unpost) willy-nilly where the energy takes me… perhaps that makes no sense. I’m quite sure it makes no sense… and/or maybe I’m not so sure.
Now I want to scratch that paragraph. I can’t write to “everyone.” It’s not possible.
Before I wrote that paragraph I’d started a different paragraph with just my feelings in the moment. Then I erased that (it was only a few words which I can’t remember now, sadly) thinking, “hold up, I’d better give a proper greeting.”
The path of good intentions, the path of good intentions, the path of good intentions… but wherever those lead me, the new first paragraph is the truth as well; however it’s just an apologetic and justifying truth, which makes me feel ill instead of well. This guilt we carry for insignificant things is what always will lead us astray. In my case anyway.
I had a rare long and lovely writing session this morning, I’d woken up very early from a mini-mare, and felt it quite significant; I very rarely have these mini-mares, so when I do, they always do feel like small keys that open big doors of perception.
I came downstairs after some time lying in the dark ruminating on it, and did a few next right things for the household, which helped my worldview a lot, and then I settled in to unwind my thoughts, and my intent was just to unwind my thoughts, and record them for my own satisfaction and benefit, and nothing more, and that felt great.
Why am I here… now… that is the question, always, is it not?
I’m still trying to answer it… five years past age 42.
Right. It’s a sobriety blog… I remember now what I came to write. It’s mostly for myself to note; I tend to record sobriety notes here rather than anywhere else. I am lately exposed to regular bottles of opened wine on the counter, no harm done, no harm done… but each time I see that bottle of wine half-finished on the counter, I want to finish it myself.
I wish I were that person that could finish it themselves… and not ache to open another bottle. But I’m not that person. It makes me want to cry inside. But that’s the truth for me, in this moment, at least.
So I still don’t take even one tiny sip. Much as that would seem harmless.
And if the bottle calls to me with its peppery notes I tuck it away in a cupboard, out of sight.
I saw something I didn’t like, on Friends, last night. We’ve been watching old episodes as a family. I feel that watching adult comedy shows with the kids offers so many teaching opportunities. I pause regularly to explain things to the younger ones, which they love, but it drives the older ones cray-cray. Eye rolls to heaven and all that.
Anyway last night we watched an episode in which Monica’s boyfriend “Fun Bob” turns out to be a 3-bottle-a-day-ish kind of alcoholic. My first thought was “how is that even possible.” I was unconscious by a bottle and an half, if I ever got that far, which was rare. But of course a larger taller person can handle a lot more alcohol and perhaps not show the effects, especially if a tolerance is built over time.
In past episodes I had been impressed with the show for not showing alcohol intake at every opportunity. In some scenes at Joey and Chandler’s place, for instance, the two guys stand at their bachelor kitchen-island/bar and sling non-alcholic drinks towards one another. Rarely are they drinking booze.
But in this episode I was disappointed in the end. “Fun Bob” became “Boring Bob” when he quit drinking. Boring in conversation, attitude, everything.
It’s just a sit-com but I thought it sucked that it left an incomplete picture. Non-boring Bob had just given up booze, yet apparently not taken on anything new. So he had nothing to talk about or do.
When we give up booze we need to fill the time we used to spend “partying” (which mostly involved sitting or standing around drinking, while “shooting the shit” about past drinking events) with something else.
Yesterday, long before we’d watched the show, I was preparing lunch. I was late for the schedule, admittedly due to blogging and due to reading others’ blogs. I’d also neglected to do the weekly grocery shopping in the morning (instead deciding to push to afternoon) so the usual lunch of salad and sandwiches could not be had. The (much-loved) chief gorilla operates on a shipshape schedule so he understandably clenches his jaw at things like that, accepting though he is about my differences from him.
But he is accepting about it perhaps mainly because I’m so often in such a good mood, quite as though drunk, but only high on life, dancing like a freak and creating something amazing (for me at least) out of what looked like nothing from all there was in the fridge. Eggplant, green peppers, veggie burgers (no buns, those are never in stock anymore) and homemade biscuites. Salt ‘n’ Pepa, “Expression” loud on Alexa. Lol, midlife, hahaha.
I was anything but boring me, I was just like I used to be with half a bottle of wine in me but I was not starting to slur my words and lose time nor place. The kids love it and I think my husband does too.
I don’t judge any of this (drinking me vs sobriety-embracing me) as better or worse in this moment, it’s just facts for the record.
Actually screw that I will judge it. It’s better for the kids, that’s my honest belief. Maybe if the kids are older I will just let loose and rock it up with wine again. But I suppose then there might be grandkids…
Who knows. One day at a time. And if possible, always end on a rhyme.
p.s. “Express yourself, you gotta be you and only you, babe / Express yourself, and let me be me”
(~ Cheryl “Salt” James, “Expression,” 1989)