Well will you look at that? Two hundred days!!! First time!
And, my drinking brain thought it would be nice to have a 2.5%-alcohol beer on Christmas Eve. Apparently we’re still on this journey 🙂
I was, as is custom in my corner of the universe, doing a Menards run on Christmas Eve. (I don’t particularly celebrate Christmas, a fact which I’m appreciating more as the years go by. I had something of a tradition with my family back when my mom was still alive, but since she’s been gone (12 years), our family’s traditions sort of evaporated. This year I talked to my dad on C. Eve and sent my brother and nephew a merry-quiet-celebrators text on C. day.) I still enjoy watching the colors and music from a distance.) So I was out buying insulation and vapor-barrier paint for my workshop, and getting probably a bit tired, and tired of negotiating the crowds (though not at Menards. I highly recommend Menards for quiet shopping on 12/24). And out of nowhere my wolfie brain says it thinks it would be really nice to have a 2.5% beer. Just one. Well, maybe two since there’s so little alcohol. Or maybe the whole six pack. (At the grocery store here, where I always bought my beer, they have this stuff. They keep it in the cooler in the back, in and amongst the NA beer — I know, what the fuck?) No one would have to know.
I haven’t particularly had any of this kind of thinking this time around, at all, not even in the beginning. That night I also had a drinking dream. Stuff is ruminating in the background. Marinating. Boy was I happy when I woke up.
And so I go on. I have things to say about clarity and letting go of old patterns and coming into peace with myself, but at the moment my thoughts aren’t lined up around that very well. Another day. Suffice it to say that I have my attention on what has always felt to me like the real shift that quitting alcohol (in my case; same goes for whatever your preferred distraction is) allows/brings on/flows inextricably (wrong word) to. Inexorably. Letting go of patterns/wounds/fears/etched images in the brain and body and heart. The sentiment of missing having “an escape, a way to just check out” appear on a regular basis in the sober blogosphere, and I feel strongly that we don’t have to give that up. Everybody gets an escape. It’s available. Everybody gets to unhook from being buffeted about by the stresses and stuff of the world, and people who’ve experienced alcohol dependence/abuse/addiction have this interesting little thing (what I call the first 17 minutes, the first 1.65 beers) with which to compare other “escapes.” I’m not advocating a new substance or activity, rather, the real deal. A clear inner flow and experience of one’s true, pure, quiet, joyful self (out of which one interacts with all the stuff, stresses and all, of life).
I said I wasn’t going to type about that and then I did. More another day.
Blessings to you in the return of the light…