So, I realize I haven’t written for a while, and mainly it’s because I’ve been progressing through that “confusion”, aka, Life, I was talking about in my last post. I guess, looking back on the week, there’ve been ups, and downs, but overall, I’ve realized that it’s truly all small stuff, you know? Maybe if I had a full-time job in a big city, I’d see everything that creates stress or concern as “important?” Nah, I don’t think so. Nothing seems that important anymore! Maybe I’m just getting old, approaching that “don’t give a shit” age? No, I don’t think that’s it.
I think it’s getting sober that’s changing me. I’m beginning to see that I can work through things, even if they’re hard. And, I’m beginning to understand that I create the reality I live in. I can make it good, or I can make it bad. I can let it go, or I can hold onto it. Right now, I’m losing the desire to hold on because I see that it’s not a choice I have to make. I can make the other one, and it’s better for me. It’s one thing, for us “users of alcohol as a means to escape,” to understand this concept intellectually; it’s another to practice it and witness how hard it is, to go against our grain and do things differently than we’re used to (like, not arguing pointlessly with someone when we want to, or not getting nervous/anxious when we did before).
I’ve also come to see just how–and I don’t want to sound ungrateful, or like I’m thinking of drinking again–“over-concerned/uber-focused” I’ve been with and about my sobriety. I think it’s time to stop dwelling, to put on my big-girl pants and get on with things. Time to let go of the reins, to redirect my focus to like, anything BUT not drinking.
What are some of the small stuff that happened this week? I had a little “sober tantrum” last night, which is one of those seemingly instantaneous woe-is-me shifts-in-focus that just comes out of nowhere. Like, you’re riding along, you got this sober thing so handled, and then, BAM! EVERYTHING SUCKS IN THIS WORLD AND I WANT TO DRINK. Like, at 11:55 pm on your way home after a great day of cleaning, of not working, of seeing a cool play–BAM! It’s all collapsing in on me, I might as well suffocate myself with my own big frontal cortex, everything is bad and it’s because I can’t drink, I can’t drink, I can’t drink. Waaaaaaaah!
I got a bug in my eye on Thursday night, during the two hours of 96 percent humidity between the sheets of rain that fell for three days straight (hello, tropical storm). Like, a literal bug from a swarm that I must’ve run through while jogging. My left eye swelled up, got bloodshot, and teared with actual pus for about 72 hours. I cried a little, and then was like, OMG, you’re so ridiculous, Drunky Drunk Girl, retied my laces, and ran a mile until I had to pack it up because a park ranger yelled at me (Do you see what that sign says? Actually, I couldn’t, because my eye was swelling shut. Anyway, it was 6:30 and the sign said “Park closes at 5.” Um, yes, but why are you closing the gate at 6:30 when the sign says it closes at 5? I think he was too distracted by my grotesque left orb to notice the irony.).
And, yeah, my sciatica has been flaring incessantly, and this time, it’s on the right side. While it’s reduced me to long sessions of floor exercises and utterly bizarre self-massage techniques–I know it’ll eventually subside. It always does.
We cleaned the house and realized that the War Against Fur cannot be won; my tomato plants are towering over five feet; we’re set to take off on Wednesday for a five-day trip to the States.
I don’t know, I just lived, and did, and sometimes I felt like I was just doing it out of “I have to” and other times I realized just how much I have and that I get to choose how I perceive my world, as either a challenge or a chore. I’ve think I’m embracing more that I have to move on with life, and the ups and downs are always going to be a part of it.
Anyway, one more week until I hit 180 days! And, you know what? I’ve already started making a list of reasons NOT to drink. I mean, why fix what’s not broken? Drinking wouldn’t add much, except Bad Things. A part of me wants to drink again, but it’s a small part. The bigger part says, get your story done, and pitch another one, *before* you drink and mess something up. It says, obviously, if you start drinking, you’re not going to be able to write that book (in your mind, that is), or make some other professional choices–it’s either drink or have some sort of modicum of professional success, and I’m not being overly dramatic. I can’t imagine going to work anymore hung over. Why don’t you wait it out, get it all set *before* you drink and mess something up?
The thing is, I’m not sure I won’t “mess shit up” if I drink again–whether that’s one glass or ten, one time or 20. It just seems to be a whole lot easier to keep doing what I’ve been doing, to not throw the possibility of drinking into the mix; to put off making that HUGE choice as to whether or when or why I want to start treating myself like a bag of shit again, you know? 😉