I just returned from a wedding in Seattle. AND…dun dun dun, still drink-free! WOOT!
(Granted, I feel like a truck hit me, and have been feeling like, TIRED as fuck, for the past two out of the THREE, yes, three, weeks of being sober, but I’ll get to that in another post. Who knew? I sure didn’t. Well, I know now — sobriety is like getting sick after weeks of running yourself ragged, amped up on adrenaline while the rest of your organs are crying out, Rest me, god damn it!)
Anyway, some things I learned at this wedding:
Old, good friends are the best sober buddies. So are former drunks. So are pregnant people. All in all, I had a great amount of support from the handful of friends who have known me for 15 years — and seen my drunky drunky ways in action, over and over and over again. The last time I saw these peeps, I: blacked out and went off at the bar about losing my “cool” black jacket, which I simply left on some barstool, which I was banging on and on about for several hours, I’m sure; blacked out and took the FREIGHT elevator instead of the one for hotel guests, ended up passing out inside the thing, and being woken up at 4 am (in my own piss, naturally) by one of the group who was the only member of its ad hoc search party who knew enough to “think like a drunk person” and realize that maybe I had taken the wrong elevator; blacked out during the baseball game and did who knows what, and then won the shirt (we have an annual “t-shirt contest” that involves vomit) by throwing up behind one of our SUVs in the parking lot after the game — turns out tailgating in the dark AFTER the game is not a good idea if you’ve been drinking PBRs since 1 pm that afternoon…
Guy “friends” who also wouldn’t mind getting in your pants WANT you to get silly drunk and don’t, actually, appreciate your sobriety.
Sitting around a table for hours talking with your friends while sober ain’t so bad. It’s nice to remember the conversations and it’s nice to not be the asshole stumbling out of the bar, who may or may not have hit on someone stupid, let someone stupid hit on her, said something stupid, or did something otherwise stupid.
Karaoking to “Don’t Stop Believin'” while sober ain’t so bad.
Flying cross-country while sober makes up for having to catch a 7:15 am flight. In fact, not having to fly either hung the fuck over or still drunk makes up for like, every morning flight I’ve ever taken. (There is nothing like passing through the AA terminal at JFK and realizing that the last time you did so, you were blazing drunk, having stayed up all night downing prosecco with a local guy “friend” (see above), and preparing to board an international flight headed to a post-disaster zone to volunteer for several months. Ahh, the memories… Seared into my mind and bloodstream — I can still feel that sense of impending doom/anxiety/pure anger that comes with being drunk for so many consecutive hours and THEN having to hustle to like, an airport.)
I’m sure there are other things, but those are what come to mind. I must say that I am proud (and bewildered) to be closing in on ONE MONTH sober. It feels…great/horrible? I’m not sure which, but it’s my own curiosity, I suppose, that’s keeping me on track now: What will sobriety surprise me with next?
More later! Thanks for reading, whoever is out there. It helps. It really does.