Friday, 9 March 2018

Evening Seven. Bored, craving, and playing the long game.

Crave, crave, crave.


It's Friday night, and that is usually my signal to double down on the home-drinking.  Expect close to two bottles of wine to pour down my fat gullet, on most Friday nights.

But they won't tonight.  In fact, the simple act of opening up this post and writing it down will stop me for now.

And earlier, as Wine-O-Clock ticked by, I grabbed the very fat labrador and my very fat self and we went for a neighbourhood walk - something we haven't done in months and months.

Acting out

Got home and started finding fault with things so have taken myself off to my study to slug down mineral water (Voss - and I don't care if it's overpriced and overrated! If I'm not drinking wine I'll be buggered if I'm going to drink 95c homebrand soda water).

And I found myself writing a crankypants email to my slow-paying client and nearly sending it, which is not the point of writing crankypants emails is it? Crankypants emails are written so you can get them out of your system, so I barely dodged a wine-craving bullet there.

Part of the reason I was cranky was because they should have paid me today and I was planning on some lovely shopping for Not-Wine things, like new PJs for my lovely sober nights, and maybe some eye cream for my much-less-puffy eyes, and a big bunch of flowers, and new paints to tackle a still life of that bunch of flowers.

But now I can't do that until next week. Bah fucking humbug.

But I still won't send the crankypants email.

I snapped at the Prof instead. Then I opened up this blog post.

Visualisation

Something I did while walking the dog was practice the last-drink-not-first-drink visualisation.

It goes something like this:

Don't think about the first drink - any fool can have a first drink.  Your (talking to myself) problem is the LAST DRINK, which will be about 10 drinks later than it should be.
And because of that LAST DRINK you will be vague and say stupid things and get fatter and fatter and feel sluggish, at best, in the morning, and GO NOWHERE.

So here I sit.  With my Voss. NOT drinking, but going online to decide what gorgeous PJs I will buy next week with the money I would have spent this week on wine.

MTC




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