Getting There
My mother hates it when I write drunk. Usually I find an email waiting for me that pretty much says, "Honey, take it easy on the rum. It's not the answer. And did you really need to post that? Re-read it sober and you'll understand. Love, Mom". I have never deleted a drunk blog (though thinking back Mom was right on occasion) and I'm not planning to start tomorrow morning. Am I drunk? No, not quite. Keep reading. I'll keep drinking. We might just get there.
The good news tonight? I'm no longer staring at the walls. I was. I caught myself. This was after I drove home from the Super Target and couldn't remember half of the trip (did I really turn at Manchaca????). I'm tired. So tired I think I may have taken a year off my life. There are those that would say I'm far too old to get so little sleep. These, of course, are the people without a hot girlfriend who loves to dance. And the ones who don't have to work on Sunday morning. Yeah, so I got an hour and fifteen minutes of sleep Saturday night. That I got a paltry less than three hours last night was just weird. I was exhausted and yet my body decided sleep wasn't an option. Hot flashes. I had hot flashes. Yes, you might be menopausal if... Don't tease me. Bring it, God. Trust me. A week off isn't what it used to be.
So, somehow I thought, in my brilliant yet exhausted mind, that rum was the answer. It always used to be the answer. Why not now? For a variety of reasons I don't care to list, it was. Scary. So, now three hours, three drinks, and one long distance phone call later, it's more than the answer. Gotta love a drunken haze. Well, one for a good reason. It's well documented that I stopped drinking upon my arrival in Austin. The move was decisively not a good thing. I was sad, depressed, miserable, and lonely. Sobriety was the only way. If I was going to deal, I was going to do it sober. And I did. I'm very proud of that fact. For the first time in a long time, I didn't use alcohol to numb the pain. Go me. Then I found happy. And incidentally, drunkenness. Go me. I think it's a huge step in the right direction.
I still can't figure out why I thought a depressant (ie. rum) would give me more energy. Sleep deprived and brain dead and I chose alcohol? As a matter of fact, I did and I'm still awake. Maybe it's the Diet Coke (please someone remind me to buy limes next time I'm at HEB). Eh, probably not. I think it's the rum. Honest. Or maybe it's the idea that I have a day off tomorrow and feasibly can sleep as late as I want to. God, I'm hoping for sleep. I've already taken too many years off my life by not sleeping, no need to add insult to injury. My dad turned eighty-two yesterday. I have to at least make it that far. And Mom... No harm, no foul, right? Well, I may not be done writing tonight. It's still early. Better get that email ready to send.
The good news tonight? I'm no longer staring at the walls. I was. I caught myself. This was after I drove home from the Super Target and couldn't remember half of the trip (did I really turn at Manchaca????). I'm tired. So tired I think I may have taken a year off my life. There are those that would say I'm far too old to get so little sleep. These, of course, are the people without a hot girlfriend who loves to dance. And the ones who don't have to work on Sunday morning. Yeah, so I got an hour and fifteen minutes of sleep Saturday night. That I got a paltry less than three hours last night was just weird. I was exhausted and yet my body decided sleep wasn't an option. Hot flashes. I had hot flashes. Yes, you might be menopausal if... Don't tease me. Bring it, God. Trust me. A week off isn't what it used to be.
So, somehow I thought, in my brilliant yet exhausted mind, that rum was the answer. It always used to be the answer. Why not now? For a variety of reasons I don't care to list, it was. Scary. So, now three hours, three drinks, and one long distance phone call later, it's more than the answer. Gotta love a drunken haze. Well, one for a good reason. It's well documented that I stopped drinking upon my arrival in Austin. The move was decisively not a good thing. I was sad, depressed, miserable, and lonely. Sobriety was the only way. If I was going to deal, I was going to do it sober. And I did. I'm very proud of that fact. For the first time in a long time, I didn't use alcohol to numb the pain. Go me. Then I found happy. And incidentally, drunkenness. Go me. I think it's a huge step in the right direction.
I still can't figure out why I thought a depressant (ie. rum) would give me more energy. Sleep deprived and brain dead and I chose alcohol? As a matter of fact, I did and I'm still awake. Maybe it's the Diet Coke (please someone remind me to buy limes next time I'm at HEB). Eh, probably not. I think it's the rum. Honest. Or maybe it's the idea that I have a day off tomorrow and feasibly can sleep as late as I want to. God, I'm hoping for sleep. I've already taken too many years off my life by not sleeping, no need to add insult to injury. My dad turned eighty-two yesterday. I have to at least make it that far. And Mom... No harm, no foul, right? Well, I may not be done writing tonight. It's still early. Better get that email ready to send.
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