Day Twenty-One - three weeks! Sober bitchiness, and a new PUPPY pic

On being THAT person

If there's one good thing about the general aura of shittiness I'm exuding at the moment, it's that my family can't blame all my past grumping on grog.  I'm short-tempered and a bit fed up with not having wine in the past couple of days. 

We've had some lovely dinners at home and yes wine would have been a nice and natural addition, but I was also able to throw a big fat reality check at myself: I'm not a 'glass of wine with dinner' person, and if I was I wouldn't be intentionally sober now, or writing about it to stay strong!

I'm a glass of wine before dinner person ... AND topped up twice while preparing dinner, grudgingly shared with partner over dinner, topped up again (possibly from a new bottle) after dinner, and maybe another time or two - or three, if there was something good on tv, or four, if it was a Friday night - just to make sure I could sleep. 

And sometimes that would definitely make me a cranky person, a mean spirited person, a laugh too loud person, an impatient person, an intolerant person, a lazy person, a slow person, and an isolated and unhappy person too.

Replay

So it would be very reasonable for the family to feel that alcohol was the reason every time I had the cranks up after dinner, and judging by comments made in the past year or two they certainly noticed the difference in me mentally and physically when I was inhaling runny grapes.

It hurts to write some of these comments down but I am going to, because I deliberately didn't want to acknowledge them at the time and they remain horrifying to me now. I need to replay these moments in my head, with my totally three-week sober brain, and own it.

Sample comments

• I hate it when you get like this (teen child with meaningful glance at my wine glass after I'd snapped at her or her father)
• Maybe if you hadn't drunk so much already (teen child, with contempt, as I refused to help with something or other that yes, he was probably capable of doing but, well, it wouldn't have hurt me to get up and assist)
• Have you ever thought it might be easier to just stop drinking so much? (teen child, helpfully and hopefully, when I was talking about the latest attempt at diet and exercise)
• Go and pour yourself another one (husband, with contempt, pissed off that I was snarking at him about something)
• Maybe don't have another one? (teen child, helpfully, after me breaking one glass of wine by knocking it over and, after cleaning up, heading to the kitchen to replace it)

Ouch. Yes, just a sample.  And not occurring every night or even every week - but maybe once or so a fortnight  in the last year?

So then... choices

I'm not perfect. I'm going to get cranky sometimes sober or not. But I'm going to remember at least one big difference is that when I am sober, I am so aware of how I feel that there's a level of choice in my mood.

I can choose to walk away if I am irritated.

I can choose to use kinder words.

I can choose to see a situation from someone else's point of view.

I can choose to rise above pettiness.

I can choose to set an example of adulting that I'm almost too late to share with my younger children.

And I do. I choose this. I choose to be sober and to be responsible for myself.

PUPPY!!

Your reward for scrolling this far down the page is a sleeping puppy.  Pic taken earlier this week but as I type she is in almost the same position. Lying over my left toes, under the desk, enjoying her third most important nap of the day.

Day minus one

The difference this time

Tomorrow I'm going to give up alcohol for good.

Right! How many times have I said that?  Well actually, nowhere near as many times as I've said, "That's it, last night was my last drink".

If those two things sound the same to you we might not be able to be friends any more.

Let's look at them again:

1. What I thought this afternoon: Tomorrow I am giving up alcohol for good.
2. What I thought on waking most mornings for more than a decade: That's it, last night was my last drink.

One vs two

Statement Number One, let's talk about you first.  Your biggest difference to Statement Number Two is that you may (could/will) be true.  We don't know yet.  

You are a plan and I used to be very good at plans, before I became this giant blob of anxiety and alcohol.

You have some details too, and a rationale.  

Details

Tomorrow, has a pleasingly divisible date - 3/3/18 - and because the first numbers match, even an American knows what day that is.  It appeals to my need for magical thinking. 

Tomorrow is also the day that we drive three hours to collect the new border collie puppy whose mother has the same smile as my utterly adored labrador Maya. 

Puppy (name tbd) is a new start, not a replacement for my constant companion, whose steps tap-tap-tapped behind me all day and whose curve of back at my feet each night brought me the only calm I've ever known to last.

By tomorrow I will have finished the latest of the sober-up-woman style books I'm reading to prepare (see? preparation = a plan) and I will have the ingredients for replacement drinks in the fridge. I already know what brand of mineral water I'm going to splurge on, because it's still cheaper than wine.

Rationale

a. I'm fifty, and I'm over it.

b. New puppy (Prof wants to call her River, Joe wants to call her Gin, but I'm leaning towards Buffy, we all have a strong girl thing) will only ever know sober me.  If I drink again I will be letting her down, which means it's not about me - at first.

'At first' matters, because I am hoping very much that after a few months of making this about puppy, it will start to be about me too, and my beautiful family, and my actually pretty awesome business and the new directions I want to take it in.

But I know I will need an 'at first' crutch. And who among us could ever bear to disappoint a puppy?

Statement Number Two

Hello my old friend.  You and I know each other well, don't we? You're the voice of regret and hindsight and you fuck right off when I really need you.  So maybe 'old friend' is too strong - maybe you're a partner. In life, in business, in crime? You're there, until you're not.

You come to me as if you're a new idea, but the age of you makes me feel sick.  You act all strong and sensible and resolved, but you're a failure and a phoney and you know I hate that.

In fact, you know I hate myself which makes it even worse that you jump into my head most mornings and sing your stupid song.

You're not a plan. You have no details. I know for a fact you aren't coming true for at least all those other times you promised. 

You have no rationale other than I don't want to feel foggy and fat any more - not until 5pm, at least.

I don't like you.  From now on I want to be friends with Number One.