My Brain Said "Yuck"
By Bill McD.
Went to Lynchburg, VA on a business deal; this pretty much killed off the week. It was also the longest period of time I have lived in a hotel room "on my own" since I quit drinking. I was with two of my installers, both of whom at least know my history, even if they weren't witness to it.
For the most part, things were okay, but the little ******* did speak up a couple of times. The old refrain of "it's been a long and sweaty day and now it's time for a beer" was sung a time or two. It really is quite an enchanting song, when heard at the right-or wrong-time….
So, while my two traveling companions willingly headed for the Siren song, I did an Odysseus thing and plugged my ears by staying in the hotel room and reading.
Interesting thing, though: One night I was, in fact, out with the two of 'em. We were sitting at a table in this place called Mudpuppy's; they were drinking Heineken and I was drinking ginger ale/cranberry. Playing trivia, so my attention was focused on the TV screen. Because of where he had put it down, at one point I picked up Mike's bottle o'beer instead of my own drink.
Didn't drink from it, or really come close. I realized almost at once that I had grabbed the wrong thing. What was interesting about this "event" was the feelings and thoughts that went through me like a freight train, all at once: The bottle felt at home in my hand and the little ******* was yelling, "Awright, dude!" My brain shut down for just a second, deafened by LB's roar. I looked at the comfortable-feeling bottle. My brain came back online and *immediately* said, "Yuck."
Honest to whatever. My brain said, "yuck."
This was one of the cooler moments of the past ten months, if you ask me. I said "yuck" to -- this is the killer part -- A BEER. I used to live for the stuff, breathe it, sleep it, dream it.
As I have said in some post or other, my dreams usually have nothing to do with drinking anymore, but if drinking is "mentioned" it's always me *not* doing it. And now it seems that I've gotten to the point where if I do think about it, it kinda disgusts me.
This is good, I think. Good because it means that I have accepted the fact -- and it is a fact -- that alcohol and I don't get along real well, in the long run. So, yeah, it does happen after a while and life marches cheerily on.