Lately, I’ve had a lot of free time on my hands.  Both of my jobs have slowedddd  waaaayyyyy dowwwnnn.  As in, I only worked a total of 14 hours this week.  This left too much time to think.  Trust me when I say I didn’t need any more time to do that.  I don’t need to think about the money I’m not making.  I’m barely getting by with two jobs and donating plasma twice a week.  The few people who know how little money I make are in complete shock that I’m doing so well.  I own my home, as much as anyone does, my car is paid for and I have no debt other than my house.  I have one daughter still at home that I share custody of, one week on one week off.  I made $16,000 last year before deductions.  I’m an independent contractor so I have to pay social security and self employment taxes when I file my taxes.  I’m not complaining, I’m quite mystified myself that things are a good as they are.  Good thing I stopped drinking away a couple hundred dollars a month.

Both of my jobs are wonderful and one is what I feel I was put here to do.  I work for my family running their business which allows me to choose my hours.  It’s a creative job that I wouldn’t give up for any other and it’s paying the bills but barely. I don’t know how I got off on this tangent other than hopefully I’ll look back at my situation and laugh at the good old days.

Anyway, I don’t normally watch much TV and now I know why.  Every movie seems to have a scene or several revolving around booze.  People either having a great time with friends or hitting the bottle due to sorrow, loneliness or boredom.  Sounds like life, eh?  At 132 days sober, I should be over the “poor me, I can never drink again” feelings, shouldn’t I?

Sometimes it’s a thought that brings on the craving to drink.  I can’t call it a craving, it’s more of an idea.  What I’ve noticed lately is these thoughts can come from a familiar smell or the way the light streams through the window. Last weekend, as the boyfriend and I visited his friend of 30 years (and best drinking buddy besides myself), I saw a gleaming tall boy (25 ounce beer) sitting on a coaster in front of the window with the sun shining on it like a spotlight.  I couldn’t imagine that I was that taken by something so trivial at this stage of the game.  The funny part is that I actually hated beer until the last year when I became less choosy about what my poison would be. Anyway, I felt a pang of regret that I’d never be able to have another beer in the beautiful sunlight.  It was only for a moment but here I am a week later writing about it.

I breezed through the first few months and now it seems harder.  Maybe that’s because I’ve put myself into situations that I had avoided.  I can’t steer clear of life forever just because it makes me feel like I want to drink.

The store is calling my name.  I believe I’ll treat myself to some sparkling water.  That seems to make me feel like I’m not missing so much on a Friday night.