Sudden preoccupation with kombucha

Day 228. A couple of months into new territory, never having mosied past five or so months sober before. I noticed in month maybe three or four that I was wanting … chapters of some sort. Sobriety seemed, oh, featureless. Monotonous? If it’s monotonous (which it could be. after all, what is it, really?), okay. I’ll take it as monotonous. But I like rhythm, or signposts, or texture, or phases, weather, seasons.

Somewhere back there I forgot about monotonosity — maybe I got texture. And then, recently, Wolfie started getting intrigued by kombucha. Apparently, it has tiny amounts of alcohol (under .5%, the stuff that’s sold in grocery stores with the soft drinks). If one was to drink 10 kombuchas at .5 each (Wolfie’s selectively good with numbers), one would (wait for it… …) have drunk the equivalent of one beer!! (Right you are, W.) BUT, and this is so the very awesome part, one wouldn’t have to tell anyone or start back at day 1. Oh, the best of all worlds!

I know what you’re thinking. 10 kombuchas is an awful lot of liquid. And one would have to drink them all quickly in series to get the correct effect. All that peeing. So Wolfie thought the smart thing to do would be to Google “high alcohol kombucha” and see if there might be ones with something more like 1.5%. Less peeing for the same benefit. Lo and behold they make “hard” kombucha that has 7%. Well, 7’s too much because that’s basically one typical beer (IPA! all the way!). I reminded Wolfie that hard cider has existed all along this sober journey and it hadn’t been considered because, well, it’s an alcoholic drink. Wolfie had to admit that with the word “hard” sitting there, kombucha of that ilk does seem to fall into that category of things we do not drink. Hmp.

I believe he’s still looking for the 1.5. He did buy a big bottle of innocent kombucha (with my credit card) and drink a bunch of it, the fucker. (Peeing.)

Fortunately, I have Belle to email (and you guys to type to) and reported Wolfie’s new intrigue and Google suggestions, and she wrote back things like “yes, good idea to email me more often,” and “if you’re continuing to have it now, even after knowing that it is winding up your head, then you’ll want to watch this,” and “wolfie is looking for a crack in your foundation. time to seal up the cracks now. you don’t want a new day one.” I do not want a new day one.

I’m glad to be having weather, and seasons, and chapters. Despite being surprising and bizarre, it feels good to be spiralling back over old thoughts and feelings, listening to them and working with them again. My previous attempts at sobriety all ended before this point. I would get to a smooth place, be there for a while, and then say “fuck it” one day and either slowly or quickly get back to drinking. I didn’t have enough days to revisit places along the journey. Now I do and I can walk up closer to weird or irrational or difficult thoughts or feelings and feel a little safer — it’s less perilous — and peer at them and breathe, standing there, and feel again what I feel in these “I need to get outta here” (“I need my dopamine”?) moments, I need my privacy, I need infinite permission to be deeply me, what hard things (psycho-physical) are blocking that, in my gut? How to relax and let the warm light in.

Blessings upon you this sober Wednesday evening.

Adrian