180 days

Well, I made it! Hard to believe six months have gone by since my last drink. Then in some sense it feels like a lifetime. 

Here’s the obligatory short list of why my life doesn’t suck:

*  Waking up without a hangover is         reason enough.

* I can drive anywhere at anytime because I’m not drunk. 

* My teen daughter respects me.

* My mind is clear to think about anything other than when my next drink is.

* Both of my jobs have provided future opportunities that would not exist had I been focused on drinking. 

* I actually think I’m starting to like myself. 

A special thank you to Belle for her persistence in getting me to become accountable for my sobriety. Without her help I’d be right back to square one.

I’m going to soldier on and continue my sober journey by not drinking today.

It’s Gonna Take A While

I was tooling along in my sober car looking at all the fluffy pink clouds and glitter rain when it occurred to me that at nearly 6 months sober, I’ve still got a long row to hoe.  Yes, I’ve endured the dreaded holidays, my birthday and other situations that made me less than thrilled to be the sole sober person.  But the summer brings sun and warmth on the golf course and thoughts of drinking instantly fill me.  Not that I’ve ever boozed it up that much while spanking whitey, but the thought still zoomed through my mind. 

I spent every other weekend last summer completely bombed out of my mind for days at a time.  Booze soaked up the minutes of my life robbing me of truly living.  Honestly, I don’t know what I’ll do with my time this summer and it makes me a little nervous.  I have started biking again and hope to keep up.  The city that I live in has an amazing river trail that weaves through the city but it feels like you are in the woods.  It’s so peaceful and I feel alive when I’m there.  I fell off the exercise wagon when I boarded the booze bus.  Riding the booze bus makes one lazy and fat and I’m glad I got off when I did. 

Drinking and golfing don’t mix for me. The boyfriend and I like to golf on a small course that is run by the Veteran’s Administration.  It’s one of the few things that we did outside of drinking.  Most times, we would wake up hung over and hit the course only to stop on the way home and pick up more alcohol.  We sometimes would golf with the managers of the apartment complex where the BF lives.  They are a couple that is about 15 years older than us.  The only time we golfed with them last year I had spent the entire night and morning getting black out drunk.  I have no idea why the BF thought it would be a good idea for me to go golfing when I was not up to par (see what I did there? lol).  I was walking like drunk people do, staggering along because my legs felt so heavy and I propelled my legs ahead of my body.  I’m sure I looked ridiculous.  By the third hole, I had stepped up onto the green before everyone had chipped their balls up.  The BF hit a shot and hit me squarely in the leg causing an immediate goose egg and black bruise.  I tried to laugh it off even though the alcohol wasn’t blocking all the pain.  I was so drunk that I don’t really remember finishing the course.  The management couple didn’t speak to us the rest of the summer.  I felt embarrassed and guilty every time I saw them. 

Hopefully, this summer will be more productive than last.  I have to admit that I’m still thinking about how nice it would be to drink my time away.