It’s early Sunday morning and I’ve been up since 7:00 am thanks to a beagle who, when she goes outside in the morning, things she’s “on the hunt” and yelps like a fool.
It’s really okay though because it’s a beautiful day and since I only have two days a week off, I don’t want to waste any of it. The weather here is cool, with little or no humidity (unusual in the Southern US). Today it will get to 80 but it will be an “open all the windows and turn on the ceiling fans” 80 degrees.
These are the times when I am especially glad that I’m sober.
These are the times when I thank God that I didn’t stay up till 3:00 am drinking all the wine in the house and then checking to see if there’s any rum or Jameson in the cabinet over the stove.
These are the times when I pay homage to the Universe because I’m not sitting here, in this chair, with a splitting headache, a sour stomach and droopy eyes because I didn’t sleep well because you NEVER sleep well when you pass out.
I’m not sweating either – I’m enjoying the cool, beautiful weather in my fluffy white robe (the windows are open) and my fuzzy slippers. I used to wake up and begin to sweat out the alcohol almost immediately and so it was very difficult to get comfortable until later (much later) when I finally got motivated to take a shower.
These are the times when I can’t believe it got that bad.
Honestly, this isn’t a big deal once in a while – if you’re NORMAL. You’ve had a big time Saturday night and you wake up with a hangover. No biggie. You remember (or you will after you’re up and fully awake) that you had an amazing time with some amazing friends and you vow that it will be a looooooong time before you do THAT again. You get some Advil and some water (because you have those little sweaters on your teeth) and smile. You text your friends to make sure they got home okay and to reminisce. You may even call one to say, “OMG! Was that fun or what? And the BAND…oh, you’re not alone? You go girl! Call me later.” That is normal.
Waking up that way every day without any good memories – hell who am I kidding, without ANY memories, and a bone crushing remorse and guilt that you carry until it’s acceptable to open that wine bottle again. You cringe when some little snippets of memory come to mind. You get some water and some Advil and you sigh. You wait for the teenagers to get up and when they do you hold your breath until you’re sure that they’re not going to say, “Mom…what was wrong with you last night?” And then when you finally manage to get it together so you can move through your day and prove to yourself that you’re okay…that everything is FINE, you make a lame excuse to go to the grocery store in the next state (we live right on the line) so you can buy wine on Sunday. You won’t drink it, you just like to have it in case people stop by. And anyway, if you have any it will only be one glass – two at most. That is alcoholism.
These are the times that I am grateful for my beautiful family and home and weather so that I can sit here on this glorius morning and be grateful. No excuses, or remorse, or guilt, or pain. Just a wife and a mom in her fluffy robe and fuzzy slippers, who needs to get her sober ass in gear and get the day going.