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Booze for Thought

So.  Every now and then, I feel compelled to talk about something else besides food here at TTOSBF.

Today, the topic is alcohol.

I enjoy it.  Probably more than I really should, if I may lay the truth out there at my dear readers' feet.

Sometimes it's a clever craft beer or a comforting gin and tonic.  I've realized lately that I often reach for the bottles in the liquor cabinet when I'm a.) bored b.) stressed c.) in a boozy social situation or d.) feel like I need a little reward for surviving (thus far) this Trump presidency.

Huh.  As it turns out, most of my life these days moves within the realm of one or more of these four conditions.

So, I was drinking often.  Every day.

And here was the big epiphany: once I started drinking, my productivity went in the toilet.  Don't jump to conclusions, I hardly ever drank myself into a stupor...but I'd get the strong buzz going for sure.  Then, I was near useless.  I wanted to eat everything in my kitchen cupboards.  Work I said I would get done went untouched.  I'd check my Google search history the next morning and realize that yes, I had actually watched that cat litterbox disco video.  No, I hadn't imagined it.

So, I had my last drink on Sunday, January 7th.  It's been almost three whole days.  I have thought about it a lot.  I have missed it a lot.  I don't plan on going dry forever, but it's a goal to keep for now.

Here's what makes this whole thing much more difficult.

Advertisements are all around me about events that involve boozing.  A Cider School at a pub nearby, a newly-opened quaint bar a half-hour from where I live, Facebook people posting pictures and memes of booze-soaked good times they're having.

A full second passes of me going Oh yeah, that sounds hella fun.  And then, oh, dammit.  I've forsaken the pleasures of alcohol.  And I'm sad.  Because I get touched by that FOMO nonsense.  You know, Fear Of Missing Out?  Everyone else is having a great time, is beautiful, and is laughingly tipsy.

I am stone sober, left alone to face this crazy world on my own.  No help, no masks, no crutches...just me out in the cold, windswept tundra of my own addiction struggle.

That sounds like desperation.  But I don't feel desperate.  Maybe I'll begin to see things a little more clearly.

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