Sitting here at work (it’s slow this time of year) when I look up at the calendar and realize that last Saturday I was sober for seven years.
And I completely missed it. How weird is that?
Part of me feels really good that the event just rolled on by like any other day and part of me is pissed because I missed out on cake! Most of me is just content to be wherever I am whenever I am as long as it’s sober.
Not gonna lie, there were moments during the holidays when I was nostalgic for the occasion of drinking. Having a glass of wine with a friend you haven’t seen in awhile. An Irish coffee after Christmas shopping in the cold. Sitting at a bar decorated with dark wood, fireplaces and deep leather chairs sharing cocktails with the hubs. Those are the things that come to mind.
Until I follow the drink to the end where I don’t know when to say when. When right after that first sip I feel the pull of “more”. When I wake up the next morning with a sour mouth and a sour stomach and I have to think really hard to determine whether or not I made an ass out of myself…again.
Then I remember that most of my friends don’t drink anymore (we’re old – that kind of shit slows down for normies as they age) and it’s not cold in the South at Christmas time and I do ALL my shopping online and wine in bars like that is way too expensive for me with two kids still in college which once again returns me to the contentment I mentioned in the above paragraph and all is right with the world…again.
So happy seven years to me but an even happier “it’s just another day”. That fits me so much better these days.