I feel like I should be feeling something different, something other than I am feeling. I think I feel a little hungover, but I can’t be because I didn’t drink last night. I often feel like this when I don’t get enough sleep the night before. Did I sleep well last night? Yes. I think so. I got into bed at around eleven, after brushing my teeth, after taking my meds, after tossing my beer. Oh. I did drink last night. Five and a half beers. Not enough to kill me, but enough to make me feel other, today. In days of yore, I would have felt worse. Every small amount of alcohol, gave birth to a mammoth hangover the following day. I think my metabolism gave up trying to outsmart me. After twenty years of the most bone-crushing , evil, agonizing hangovers, they just became shite like everyone else’s.
I’m allegedly an alcoholic, but I’m not convinced. Apparently that’s one of the hallmarks though – not being convinced. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. There’s a beautiful saying in A.A. “I don’t get in trouble every time I drink, but every time I get in trouble I’m drunk.” That’s a drunk, and that’s me. I have been good at getting into trouble lately. Well it’s been a whole seven and a half weeks! Super de duper Homer.
It’s a beautiful 83°F and sunny right now. That’s 28°C and soony for the foreigners in the audience. Perfect beer weather. Even better than yesterday. I don’t know how to get through a wonderful Chicago summer without a few bevvies. But then if I drink bevvies for the next few weeks, how likely is it that I’ll stay off them in Italy? That would not be good. What if I do something stupid? End up in hospital over there? I know I should not drink tonight. I know I should go to an A.A. meeting. It’s been weeks since I’ve gone, maybe even since I’ve gotten out of hospital even, which would mean seven and a half weeks. Does it matter? Would that stop my tongue watering for Blue Moon as it is doing now? Maybe it would just make me stronger in fighting the urges. I’m not sure. If I give in tonight, I’m a step closer to screwing up, but it would be a lovely and relaxing evening, or would it be?
My husband just suggested I go to the store to buy a 12-pack of Blue Moon, and then a 12-pack each. D’you know what would happen if I drank a 12-pack? Knives, more booze, cutting, the hospital, disaster. I don’t need a road map. It’s burned into my head.
I am not for one minute trying to blame my drinking on anyone else. My sobriety (or lack thereof) is my own to maintain. He genuinely doesn’t think I’ve a problem, so what would he try to protect me from myself. Mind you – I don’t know why he thinks I keep on fucking up when I’m drunk, but sure I’m not going to go there.
So guess where I just came back from? The store. And guess what I bought there? Come on… I know it’s hard… Drumroll please… Yes… Two 12-packs of Blue Moon.It turns out my husband didn’t want Blue Moon, but neglected to tell me that in the 763 times he asked me for a 12-pack for him. I’m sure he’ll survive, or go to the store and get his Corona (or whatever shite he wants). I’m sure I looked like the model alcoholic in the store. I bought five things: Blue Moon; Orange Juice; Oranges; Burgers; Burger Buns. To those unfamiliar with Blue Moon, it is usually garnished with a slice of orange. I like mine with a splash of O.J. So three of my purchases were booze related. Oh. It turns out, the gas tank we had for grilling was full, but the valve was broken, so we couldn’t grill. Basically I paid $68 to get drunk, at home tonight.
I went to Dunkin’ Donuts on the way home from Jewel. Why? So I would put off the start of my drinking, so that I’m less likely to get shit-faced. All bets are off once I start. These, my friends, are all so completely and totally alcoholic traits, but we won’t talk about that now. It’s Saturday night. I wouldn’t want to ruin the buzz!
Changing tack… Tack changed… The only requirement for A.A. membership is a desire to stop drinking. You don’t have to admit to being an alcoholic, or even think you are one. Well I think I probably am one, and I few weeks ago, I “knew” I was one. Back then, I mostly wanted not to drink. Now, I don’t want to give up. I don’t want to stop. I know the correct decision is to stop. The safe one. The only way to stop me from doing stupid things. But I keep pretending that I can maintain control. I can drink just the right amount to mellow out, but not go nuts. That’s never going to continue, It may last for a short while, and then all will go to shit.
So I’m on beer #2 and it’s 20:05. That makes me some sort of saint! I’m dreading telling my psych on Thursday. Two days drinking in a row. Isn’t that ridiculous? I am worried about that? More than that though, I am petrified about cutting and buzzing – not so I bleed and die, but so I piss everyone off, and ruin my kids. I really don’t give a shit about me. You don’t know how much I want to slice and dice. For that reason alone I should not drink. I want to cut whether I am drunk or not, but when I am drunk, I am much more likely to do it.
Peace out – drunk mother cutter.
Running Half Empty 