Thoughts from a moderate problem drinker
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Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Somewhere, NJ
Posts: 27
Since stepping away from the booze game I haven't really gone out or done anything social. I've been so sedentary that my muscles are all tight and my back is in knots. Today I figured I would get out of the house, at least for a little while.
The post office is probably responsible for more relapses than any other place on earth. It couldn't be a more soulless, depressing refuge of apathy and incompetence. I become acutely aware of my mortality, my limited time on this earth, as I stand in its life-sucking lines. But I had to send this stupid computer to my sister.
To get in and out of the post office with my sanity intact I knew I needed a strategy. I have to avoid stress, but when is the Post Office not a stressful affair? Being uncommonly awake at 6am on a Saturday, something which has not occurred in five or more years, I got dressed and headed down fifteen minutes before it opened. I got in and I got out. For once, I was the early bird.
But while at the counter I dropped something and the guy next to me alerted me to it. Before I left the house I poured a teaspoon of kava powder into some saran wrap. This is my emergency ration if for some reason I get stuck in a stressful situation or whatever. But being a brown powder and wrapped up as it was in saran wrap, I bet the guy thought it was heroin.
Next I went to starbucks. The girl behind the counter was extremely chipper. She was practically bouncing. It was too much that early in the morning. It was like waking up and blue man group is performing in your bedroom. I have never, not once in my life, been that chipper in the morning. Not even when I was five years old. I have no concept of what could possibly have made her that happy to be alive, in her 20s and working at a coffee shop serving an endless line of grouchy, groggy scumbags like me - those who could stand in line for 20 minutes, complain about the wait, and still not know what the hell we wanted when it was finally our turn to order.
If my penis were stimulated every time I served a cup of coffee, that might do it. Maybe that girl got an orgasmic thrill from lattes. That's the only explanation I can come up with.
There was a rack of books on the sidewalk on my way back to the car, a dollar bargain bin. Lance Armstrong's book was in it, and I laughed at that, what a douche. I picked up the Crucible by Arthur Miller. Looks like a short read and it was inspired by the whole McCarthy witch-hunt era. Since we're entering a new which-hunt era of NSA-monitoring and terrorists around every corner, maybe there's interesting and useful insights.
Then I went to the zoo, like I planned, and got there right when it opened. It was empty and serene for the first hour. I felt a headache coming on so I went to the gift shop, spent a good half hour looking for something for my nephew, who's ********. It's not easy shopping for him because he only likes candy, tv shows with animals, and toys that make noise when you push buttons. I got a national geographic video. As long as animals are on the screen it's probably fine. He doesn't care what the narrator says.
Walking around the zoo a few moms gave me the pedophile stare - like why's this 40 year old guy with no kids at the zoo? So I made a point to stare at their racks instead.
I watched a large fruit bat about the size of a beach ball. What a combination of cute and horrific. Their wings look like umbrellas from hell. One was hanging upside down and could easily do full body crunches and lick his own fuzzy nuts. Some guys get all the talent.
I think the best part was the elephants. They were just hanging out and it was relaxing sitting in the sun watching them do mostly nothing and in no hurry to do it either. I even saw one go to take a step, nah, changed his mind, and didn't. Right where he was was a-okay. He'll probably get to that step tomorrow.
By far the most annoying animal at the zoo was a sanctimonious zoo keeper. I do some work with museums and other non-profits and for some reason there's always a few of these types. Like they wait in the shadows for rule breakers then take maximum pleasure acting like pseudo-cops and saviors of all that needs saving. Really they're just control freaks.
Some large bird was making some racket in a nearby cage, so a guy was jokingly mimicking the same racket. Sanctimonious zoo keeper swoops in and reads him the riot act how he's scaring all the animals. She gesticulated dramatically, like the guy was deaf or ********. Even put one knee up on the bench and leaned in on him and said "so do you understand?" like five times, staring him down over her flip-up sunglasses. She was a caricature. I wanted to toss her into the mandrill cage.
On my way home I decided I deserved some ice cream, cause I'm worth it. I'm not normally a sweets guy, but since I gave up the booze I've developed a bit of a sweet tooth from time to time. I stopped in at the grocery store and then thought a delicious shake might be the thing, so I picked up some ice cream and milk. To round it out I wanted some heath bars to blend in. They were next to the self check out line. As visions of whipping up this tasty concoction in my Magic Bullet blender occupied my thoughts, I encounter walking caricature of the day number 2. He's an older, lanky white dude with his shirt tucked all the way in and his khaki too-short shorts pulled up practically to his nipples. This is that guy that thinks he's super intelligent but then gets all blustery when he can't figure out the simplest of things, and of course thinks it's someone else's fault.
He's trying to buy a gallon jug of water and it won't scan. The guy is beside himself in disbelief and shock, just keeps waving it in front of the scanner boop boop boop. This is what he said: "I've never had water not scan for me here or at any other store. I'm...I'm tempted to just walk out!" Wow, whatever will the store do without that ninety-eight cents. The attendant tries to help him and he keeps walking back and forth, wringing his hands and shaking his head at the injustice of it all.
Meanwhile, some impatient lady behind me keeps asking me what's going on. She's not hot, for starters, but anyway this is a ridiculous question to ask. I'm just another customer like her. It's not like I got there ten minutes earlier and saw the whole water incident go down - I'm ONE person ahead of her in line. Anyway, who cares? It'll get sorted in a few seconds. Ugh. So I finally said, "I dunno. Maybe he's... thirsty." She said, "Oh..." and shook her head in understanding, as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Some people just need an explanation. I should have said he needed it for Africa. I'll try that next time.
I got home and went to make my shake. That's when I realized I forgot the heath bars.
The post office is probably responsible for more relapses than any other place on earth. It couldn't be a more soulless, depressing refuge of apathy and incompetence. I become acutely aware of my mortality, my limited time on this earth, as I stand in its life-sucking lines. But I had to send this stupid computer to my sister.
To get in and out of the post office with my sanity intact I knew I needed a strategy. I have to avoid stress, but when is the Post Office not a stressful affair? Being uncommonly awake at 6am on a Saturday, something which has not occurred in five or more years, I got dressed and headed down fifteen minutes before it opened. I got in and I got out. For once, I was the early bird.
But while at the counter I dropped something and the guy next to me alerted me to it. Before I left the house I poured a teaspoon of kava powder into some saran wrap. This is my emergency ration if for some reason I get stuck in a stressful situation or whatever. But being a brown powder and wrapped up as it was in saran wrap, I bet the guy thought it was heroin.
Next I went to starbucks. The girl behind the counter was extremely chipper. She was practically bouncing. It was too much that early in the morning. It was like waking up and blue man group is performing in your bedroom. I have never, not once in my life, been that chipper in the morning. Not even when I was five years old. I have no concept of what could possibly have made her that happy to be alive, in her 20s and working at a coffee shop serving an endless line of grouchy, groggy scumbags like me - those who could stand in line for 20 minutes, complain about the wait, and still not know what the hell we wanted when it was finally our turn to order.
If my penis were stimulated every time I served a cup of coffee, that might do it. Maybe that girl got an orgasmic thrill from lattes. That's the only explanation I can come up with.
There was a rack of books on the sidewalk on my way back to the car, a dollar bargain bin. Lance Armstrong's book was in it, and I laughed at that, what a douche. I picked up the Crucible by Arthur Miller. Looks like a short read and it was inspired by the whole McCarthy witch-hunt era. Since we're entering a new which-hunt era of NSA-monitoring and terrorists around every corner, maybe there's interesting and useful insights.
Then I went to the zoo, like I planned, and got there right when it opened. It was empty and serene for the first hour. I felt a headache coming on so I went to the gift shop, spent a good half hour looking for something for my nephew, who's ********. It's not easy shopping for him because he only likes candy, tv shows with animals, and toys that make noise when you push buttons. I got a national geographic video. As long as animals are on the screen it's probably fine. He doesn't care what the narrator says.
Walking around the zoo a few moms gave me the pedophile stare - like why's this 40 year old guy with no kids at the zoo? So I made a point to stare at their racks instead.
I watched a large fruit bat about the size of a beach ball. What a combination of cute and horrific. Their wings look like umbrellas from hell. One was hanging upside down and could easily do full body crunches and lick his own fuzzy nuts. Some guys get all the talent.
I think the best part was the elephants. They were just hanging out and it was relaxing sitting in the sun watching them do mostly nothing and in no hurry to do it either. I even saw one go to take a step, nah, changed his mind, and didn't. Right where he was was a-okay. He'll probably get to that step tomorrow.
By far the most annoying animal at the zoo was a sanctimonious zoo keeper. I do some work with museums and other non-profits and for some reason there's always a few of these types. Like they wait in the shadows for rule breakers then take maximum pleasure acting like pseudo-cops and saviors of all that needs saving. Really they're just control freaks.
Some large bird was making some racket in a nearby cage, so a guy was jokingly mimicking the same racket. Sanctimonious zoo keeper swoops in and reads him the riot act how he's scaring all the animals. She gesticulated dramatically, like the guy was deaf or ********. Even put one knee up on the bench and leaned in on him and said "so do you understand?" like five times, staring him down over her flip-up sunglasses. She was a caricature. I wanted to toss her into the mandrill cage.
On my way home I decided I deserved some ice cream, cause I'm worth it. I'm not normally a sweets guy, but since I gave up the booze I've developed a bit of a sweet tooth from time to time. I stopped in at the grocery store and then thought a delicious shake might be the thing, so I picked up some ice cream and milk. To round it out I wanted some heath bars to blend in. They were next to the self check out line. As visions of whipping up this tasty concoction in my Magic Bullet blender occupied my thoughts, I encounter walking caricature of the day number 2. He's an older, lanky white dude with his shirt tucked all the way in and his khaki too-short shorts pulled up practically to his nipples. This is that guy that thinks he's super intelligent but then gets all blustery when he can't figure out the simplest of things, and of course thinks it's someone else's fault.
He's trying to buy a gallon jug of water and it won't scan. The guy is beside himself in disbelief and shock, just keeps waving it in front of the scanner boop boop boop. This is what he said: "I've never had water not scan for me here or at any other store. I'm...I'm tempted to just walk out!" Wow, whatever will the store do without that ninety-eight cents. The attendant tries to help him and he keeps walking back and forth, wringing his hands and shaking his head at the injustice of it all.
Meanwhile, some impatient lady behind me keeps asking me what's going on. She's not hot, for starters, but anyway this is a ridiculous question to ask. I'm just another customer like her. It's not like I got there ten minutes earlier and saw the whole water incident go down - I'm ONE person ahead of her in line. Anyway, who cares? It'll get sorted in a few seconds. Ugh. So I finally said, "I dunno. Maybe he's... thirsty." She said, "Oh..." and shook her head in understanding, as if that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Some people just need an explanation. I should have said he needed it for Africa. I'll try that next time.
I got home and went to make my shake. That's when I realized I forgot the heath bars.
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Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Somewhere, NJ
Posts: 27
Another Saturday night at home with no plans with anyone. Not bad, really. It's times like these I'm glad I'm an introvert. It sure comes in handy when you're coming off booze. I wonder if I'd hold up better than most in solitary confinement.
Eventually I'll get stir crazy. I'll want to be out there doing something and maybe even with other people. And joking and laughing and making inane but harmless observations everyone can all safely agree on without anyone getting their feelings hurt too much. And commenting on the food, or the weather or some tv series. The whole thing will be tolerable enough I won't feel like I need three or four drinks before the people and conversation start to become interesting.
Somtimes in these situations I'm with a girl, so there's an okay chance I'll get laid later that evening. That's something to look forward to again. But only if I can keep quiet about how annoying some of her friends are to me. There's no need to comment in the moment. Get laid first and then say something tomorrow if I still care enough to complain, which I usually don't. And even if I do, she has the whole day to get over it, and maybe see it my way a little. So maybe I can get laid the following night as well. And so on. I have to remember these little rules for when I'm ready to jump back into the mating game.
But right now this is a-okay. Occasionally even pleasant 22 days into this thing.
Still, 22 days and I'm feeling mostly numb with an undercurrent of precariousness. Like walking a narrow trail up the crest of razor steep mountains, certain death on both sides. It's not a tight-rope, though. It's plenty wide to navigate. But if I get too distracted admiring the trees or the horizon or the breeze - if I lose my focus - it's down down down to where I started. Only a few months or years older.
My sneaky brain is ever trying to trick me. It says, "you gave it up for this? This unfeeling, slightly sick all the time limbo existence?" My brain is like a so-so friend, trustworthy in a lot of situations but I know he's interested in my girlfriend, would screw her brains out if given half a chance. The problem gets worse because I'm pretty sure my girlfriend wouldn't mind it either. And she'd blame it on the booze.
On Saturday night I watched the film Life of Pi. I won't give much away, but one thing happened. At the part where you're supposed to cry, I actually welled up a little. Naturally I squashed it with thoughts of banging chicks and shooting guns, as all men must do, but for the second half of the film, that one hour, I didn't feel that doldrum numb nothingness.
Sunday I woke up with the same unrested feeling as usual, but I was antsy. I didn't feel like a book or a video game or a movie. I wanted to go back to sleep for an hour but I knew I'd just lay there. I started thinking about what I should do. A heavy feeling came over me and gravity increased by about twenty percent. I knew this was my brain again so I just put on some warm-ups and went for a hike. Didn't think about it, wasn't even sure if I wanted to go for a hike, but that's what I was doing. And sure enough, once I started it I was fine.
I call it a hike but "trail walk" is more like it. I'm not pitching a tent or risking bears, or even exerting much. It's mostly flat and just happens to be on dirt with trees on the side.
As far as women go, the trails beat the zoo by a mile. There were all sorts of them running or walking or lotioning or adjusting their sports bras. God bless them.
I've dated a few athletic girls and like all women they have their good and bad. The good is pretty obvious when you look at them, even better when their clothes are off. The bad is some of them take it too far. They're one-dimensional. Life is all about workouts, the perfect diet and improving a PR time. They work out way past fit and think they look best as a toothpick. And of course, it never lasted. They'd sip a glass of wine over two hours and I'd finish the rest of the bottle and be uncorking another.
But a few are true wonder women, and keep it all balanced and are still interesting besides, in fact their bodies are the least interesting thing about them - the kind of woman I would have quit drinking to be with, but nevertheless didn't deserve for a second. At any rate by the time I was 30, I realized they were also all married. Now I'm closing in on 40 and a lot of them divorced. Sometimes you can miss the boat and it comes back later. But there might be a kid or three on board.
On my way home I picked up some heath bars, and made another shake. It was creamy and delicious.
Eventually I'll get stir crazy. I'll want to be out there doing something and maybe even with other people. And joking and laughing and making inane but harmless observations everyone can all safely agree on without anyone getting their feelings hurt too much. And commenting on the food, or the weather or some tv series. The whole thing will be tolerable enough I won't feel like I need three or four drinks before the people and conversation start to become interesting.
Somtimes in these situations I'm with a girl, so there's an okay chance I'll get laid later that evening. That's something to look forward to again. But only if I can keep quiet about how annoying some of her friends are to me. There's no need to comment in the moment. Get laid first and then say something tomorrow if I still care enough to complain, which I usually don't. And even if I do, she has the whole day to get over it, and maybe see it my way a little. So maybe I can get laid the following night as well. And so on. I have to remember these little rules for when I'm ready to jump back into the mating game.
But right now this is a-okay. Occasionally even pleasant 22 days into this thing.
Still, 22 days and I'm feeling mostly numb with an undercurrent of precariousness. Like walking a narrow trail up the crest of razor steep mountains, certain death on both sides. It's not a tight-rope, though. It's plenty wide to navigate. But if I get too distracted admiring the trees or the horizon or the breeze - if I lose my focus - it's down down down to where I started. Only a few months or years older.
My sneaky brain is ever trying to trick me. It says, "you gave it up for this? This unfeeling, slightly sick all the time limbo existence?" My brain is like a so-so friend, trustworthy in a lot of situations but I know he's interested in my girlfriend, would screw her brains out if given half a chance. The problem gets worse because I'm pretty sure my girlfriend wouldn't mind it either. And she'd blame it on the booze.
On Saturday night I watched the film Life of Pi. I won't give much away, but one thing happened. At the part where you're supposed to cry, I actually welled up a little. Naturally I squashed it with thoughts of banging chicks and shooting guns, as all men must do, but for the second half of the film, that one hour, I didn't feel that doldrum numb nothingness.
Sunday I woke up with the same unrested feeling as usual, but I was antsy. I didn't feel like a book or a video game or a movie. I wanted to go back to sleep for an hour but I knew I'd just lay there. I started thinking about what I should do. A heavy feeling came over me and gravity increased by about twenty percent. I knew this was my brain again so I just put on some warm-ups and went for a hike. Didn't think about it, wasn't even sure if I wanted to go for a hike, but that's what I was doing. And sure enough, once I started it I was fine.
I call it a hike but "trail walk" is more like it. I'm not pitching a tent or risking bears, or even exerting much. It's mostly flat and just happens to be on dirt with trees on the side.
As far as women go, the trails beat the zoo by a mile. There were all sorts of them running or walking or lotioning or adjusting their sports bras. God bless them.
I've dated a few athletic girls and like all women they have their good and bad. The good is pretty obvious when you look at them, even better when their clothes are off. The bad is some of them take it too far. They're one-dimensional. Life is all about workouts, the perfect diet and improving a PR time. They work out way past fit and think they look best as a toothpick. And of course, it never lasted. They'd sip a glass of wine over two hours and I'd finish the rest of the bottle and be uncorking another.
But a few are true wonder women, and keep it all balanced and are still interesting besides, in fact their bodies are the least interesting thing about them - the kind of woman I would have quit drinking to be with, but nevertheless didn't deserve for a second. At any rate by the time I was 30, I realized they were also all married. Now I'm closing in on 40 and a lot of them divorced. Sometimes you can miss the boat and it comes back later. But there might be a kid or three on board.
On my way home I picked up some heath bars, and made another shake. It was creamy and delicious.
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Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Somewhere, NJ
Posts: 27
warning: ***craving level at 75%***
critical threshold exceeded
initiating counter measures:
Leave work..............done
kava................done
kudzu.....................done
nicotine......................done
physical activity..............done
milkshake............error.......system reports insufficient milk...correcting....done....restarting process....done
***craving level at 50%***
Phew... that was a close one.
I felt the sparks coming on the last hour at work, which is no surprise. Nearly all my drinking kicks off after work.
There were a few triggers I felt, and a tell-tale sign is excitability - mania. I'll be working on something in a meeting or with a coworker and it just starts to wind up in me. Then zaps of adrenaline and then the craving comes on fast and sharp and latches onto my head like those creatures from Aliens. Takes over my brain and turns me into a single-minded zombie. Fortunately I got in front of it before I got the Bruce Banner eyes.
It's backing off now, but I think I'm gonna go for a walk.
Could be a rough week.
critical threshold exceeded
initiating counter measures:
Leave work..............done
kava................done
kudzu.....................done
nicotine......................done
physical activity..............done
milkshake............error.......system reports insufficient milk...correcting....done....restarting process....done
***craving level at 50%***
Phew... that was a close one.
I felt the sparks coming on the last hour at work, which is no surprise. Nearly all my drinking kicks off after work.
There were a few triggers I felt, and a tell-tale sign is excitability - mania. I'll be working on something in a meeting or with a coworker and it just starts to wind up in me. Then zaps of adrenaline and then the craving comes on fast and sharp and latches onto my head like those creatures from Aliens. Takes over my brain and turns me into a single-minded zombie. Fortunately I got in front of it before I got the Bruce Banner eyes.
It's backing off now, but I think I'm gonna go for a walk.
Could be a rough week.
Join Date: Aug 2011
Location: "I'm not lost for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost ..."
Posts: 5,273
Everyone decides how they dig themselves out. I got myself into this. If I want to get out with my dignity intact, I need to get myself out.
I was actually able to maintain some semblance of normalcy on the outside for some years while drinking heavily/daily, but man it just became such hard work. Everything became so freakin' hard. I maintained until I couldn't and then the wheels came off.
I'm glad you're deciding to quit. Sometimes the edge is actually closer than we realize.
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Join Date: Oct 2012
Location: NY
Posts: 227
Jumping on the bandwagon here: great posts. I don't often laugh out loud but I did numerous times while reading your posts. Thanks for posting. Along with wanting you to remain sober for yourself, I want you to keep posting too....
Nothing is impossible!
Join Date: Jun 2013
Location: EAGAN
Posts: 792
Originally Posted by outoftime 
Today I've been off the sauce for 18 days. For the first time in a long time I feel like it will stick.
I know there are many like me - those who know they have a problem and are thinking about making a change, but they still have a job, a house, a license. In other words, alcohol hasn't completely wrecked everything, but the wrecking ball is in the project plan if you don't make some changes. You don't quite want to call yourself an alcoholic, but you know things are starting to slip.
That's one reason I decided to quit the juice. My job and social standing are intact, but only because I'm riding the coattails and groundwork I did 5 - 7 years ago. I'm not advancing any more, and over time this becomes more and more apparent. No new accomplishments and the old accomplishments are stale bread. Maybe others sense it or not, but I know I do. Accomplishing things, doing things and making an impact, give me a sense of self and worth.
I don't know if it's easier quitting in my position. On the one hand, the mental and physical cravings aren't as severe as in some others. On the other hand, I have to go through all this and keep up appearances, maintain a job and so on. My life isn't so wrecked that the routine can't be maintained, but it's often the routine that sucks us right back in. There's only so many pause buttons that can be pushed before it's obvious what's going on.
I don't want to be taken cared of. "Why don't you just admit you have a problem, embrace Christ, make a sobriety page on facebook...TELL EVERYONE?"
Why? Cause that's death to me. Particularly as a guy, that's professional and social suicide. I would rather move somewhere else in that scenario and start over. It's not that my friends wouldn't support me. It's that whenever I'm with them in a bar or at a party they'd treat me like a cripple who needs special treatment. I'd dread that one of them, after a couple drinks, would "slip" and reveal my "problem" and then would come the endless comments of "Ohhhh.... that's why he's just drinking soda, that's why he's always the DD...". I'd never be able to relax and enjoy myself in social situations with those people.
Everyone decides how they dig themselves out. I got myself into this. If I want to get out with my dignity intact, I need to get myself out.
I know there are many like me - those who know they have a problem and are thinking about making a change, but they still have a job, a house, a license. In other words, alcohol hasn't completely wrecked everything, but the wrecking ball is in the project plan if you don't make some changes. You don't quite want to call yourself an alcoholic, but you know things are starting to slip.
That's one reason I decided to quit the juice. My job and social standing are intact, but only because I'm riding the coattails and groundwork I did 5 - 7 years ago. I'm not advancing any more, and over time this becomes more and more apparent. No new accomplishments and the old accomplishments are stale bread. Maybe others sense it or not, but I know I do. Accomplishing things, doing things and making an impact, give me a sense of self and worth.
I don't know if it's easier quitting in my position. On the one hand, the mental and physical cravings aren't as severe as in some others. On the other hand, I have to go through all this and keep up appearances, maintain a job and so on. My life isn't so wrecked that the routine can't be maintained, but it's often the routine that sucks us right back in. There's only so many pause buttons that can be pushed before it's obvious what's going on.
I don't want to be taken cared of. "Why don't you just admit you have a problem, embrace Christ, make a sobriety page on facebook...TELL EVERYONE?"
Why? Cause that's death to me. Particularly as a guy, that's professional and social suicide. I would rather move somewhere else in that scenario and start over. It's not that my friends wouldn't support me. It's that whenever I'm with them in a bar or at a party they'd treat me like a cripple who needs special treatment. I'd dread that one of them, after a couple drinks, would "slip" and reveal my "problem" and then would come the endless comments of "Ohhhh.... that's why he's just drinking soda, that's why he's always the DD...". I'd never be able to relax and enjoy myself in social situations with those people.
Everyone decides how they dig themselves out. I got myself into this. If I want to get out with my dignity intact, I need to get myself out.
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Join Date: May 2012
Location: Colorado
Posts: 821
I was a binge drinker also. It gave me the illusion that I had some kind of control over my drinking. I really enjoy your posts and hope that you keep up your "blog". Anyway, just wanted to chime in and say "hi"... Jess
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Thread Starter
Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Somewhere, NJ
Posts: 27
After yesterday's attack of cravings, I thought about it a bit more. I could think of a few events and interactions that might have contributed, but all in all it didn't make as much sense as I'd prefer. I know not everything is going to make sense for awhile, or rather, things will make less sense than usual. Cause one thing I've learned is things never have to make sense. It's a luxury when they do. That's only partly to do with booze.
Anyway, the craving really came out of left field. So I thought back a few more days and remembered that I'd dropped my St John's dosage down. That was around a week ago, now that I think of it. I dropped it because when my eyes had even a little bit of fatigue my vision would get blurry, like fuzzy halos around everything, and a general dimming and maybe even very slight tunnel vision. It was simultaneously frightening and annoying. Was it a withdrawal symptom? The Kudzu maybe? Maybe I have the cancer. Whatever it was, teenagers were fragging the living hell out of me in Battlefield 3. I dropped to two pills and my vision improved, particularly my night vision, but simultaneously, some of the emotional highs that trigger cravings returned.
So last night I went back to three pills. Two before bed and one in the morning. My kill counts will just have to suffer for awhile. I'll stay with that for a few days, and then if things are going well, maybe try dropping to 2.5 courtesy of the good old pill cutter.
The other effect, the intended one, is it flattens my personality and emotional range. Instead of riding the big roller coaster with the 80 degree drops, loops, and pass-out-inducing g-forces, I'm riding the older coaster that has maybe one loop, the one nobody rides anymore because it's old and boring and wimpy. It's not quite the kiddie coaster, not that bad, but it's the coaster I can ride many times over without feeling sick, like I need to get off right exactly now.
On the subject of SJ, another side effect I've noticed is muscle stiffness, which is particularly bad in my lower back on the right side, like a pinched nerve. I've always lacked flexibility in general so I'm probably predisposed to this.
And on muslce stiffness, once I took a yoga class but had to quit. On a previous attempt to quit booze I mentioned to a friend that I was feeling stiff and really stressed out. I was withdrawing at the time, of course, but she didn't know that part. She suggested yoga, really pushed it in fact. I've always seen yoga as sort of new-agey, so I resisted but finally gave in. I went with her to her next class.
The class had its share of gorgeous women and I was one of only two guys, but it went downhill from there. First off, near as I can tell, sex is the absolute last thing on their minds. Women in general just seem to be able to turn sex off when they want. There should be a law against that.
They did this deep sucking-in-of-air thing while holding a pose and then all at once the class "released", and I swear the girls sounded like they were having the best or first orgasms of their lives. It was so over the top forced it was ridiculous, like when porn stars start screaming in ecstacy the moment the dude unzips his pants.
The sounds were all over the map, too, like some twisted a-capella. A few were normal (whatever a normal orgasm sounds like) but most spanned the range from mating gorilless to tortured opera singer. Of course my view was often hampered, positioned as I was with my ass in the air but the visions they conjured of what the associated woman looked like ranged from frumpy school marm to repressed nun, not a Pam Anderson in the mix at all.
In between orgasm sounds I heard farting, then soon smelled it. I was out of my element and unfamiliar with yoga class cultural norms, but about ten minutes in the first one happened and that was basically the signal to all that it was game on. Every couple minutes someone let one go. Did I mention it was roasting hot? So there I am, surrounded by beautiful women, my brain fizzing and sizzling with withdrawal, drenched in sweat and a fecal cloud, and chicks are making orgasm sounds while world music plays in the background.
My mind recoiled at the absurdity of it. I thought I might be going crazy. If I'm in a hot car with three women and I let out a giant fart followed by an "OHHH GAWWWWWWD" orgasm sound, I'm pretty sure the reaction would not be good. Yet not only was this scenario perfectly acceptable in this classroom, people paid money for the experience.
I looked over at my friend with a WTF expression but she was eyes closed, off in zen land and making her own orgasm sounds. No choice but to hang on. Ride this whole thing out. Incidentally, I wasn't terribly attracted to her but her orgasm sound was so off-putting it shut the door on us ever having courtesy sex.
One vision is etched on my brain forever. There was an indian girl with an unbelievable body and a face that made me want to kiss the toes of god almighty. She was petite and had a butt made of two bocce balls and breasts forged from the collision of two stars. You could land airplanes on her stomach. At the beginning of the class I positioned my mat so I could sneak looks over at her. The instructor lead us into a pose and she lifted her arm to reveal a golf-ball-size matted sweaty afro in her underarm. I recoiled, aghast. And now that's what I had to look at for the rest of the class.
Yoga was not all bad. What I didn't expect is how hard it was, insofar as the workout itself I mean. I thought it was some sort of hippy-dippy fake exercise to make women feel like they were "grrls", but I was pouring sweat fifteen minutes into it. My muscles were literally shaking with the exertion and I wasn't sure if I could make it through the class. Jeez, it was embarrasing. All these women around me going through it all effortlessly, farting and orgasming and twisting into pretzels like nothing, and I was ready to pass out.
At the end they did a meditation and they started with the whole "praise vishnu" chanting thing. That was basically when I was done with yoga. I just don't go down that road. Whatever floats your boat, but it sinks mine. Keep your yoga and I'll keep my pizza rolls and video games.
Anyway, the craving really came out of left field. So I thought back a few more days and remembered that I'd dropped my St John's dosage down. That was around a week ago, now that I think of it. I dropped it because when my eyes had even a little bit of fatigue my vision would get blurry, like fuzzy halos around everything, and a general dimming and maybe even very slight tunnel vision. It was simultaneously frightening and annoying. Was it a withdrawal symptom? The Kudzu maybe? Maybe I have the cancer. Whatever it was, teenagers were fragging the living hell out of me in Battlefield 3. I dropped to two pills and my vision improved, particularly my night vision, but simultaneously, some of the emotional highs that trigger cravings returned.
So last night I went back to three pills. Two before bed and one in the morning. My kill counts will just have to suffer for awhile. I'll stay with that for a few days, and then if things are going well, maybe try dropping to 2.5 courtesy of the good old pill cutter.
The other effect, the intended one, is it flattens my personality and emotional range. Instead of riding the big roller coaster with the 80 degree drops, loops, and pass-out-inducing g-forces, I'm riding the older coaster that has maybe one loop, the one nobody rides anymore because it's old and boring and wimpy. It's not quite the kiddie coaster, not that bad, but it's the coaster I can ride many times over without feeling sick, like I need to get off right exactly now.
On the subject of SJ, another side effect I've noticed is muscle stiffness, which is particularly bad in my lower back on the right side, like a pinched nerve. I've always lacked flexibility in general so I'm probably predisposed to this.
And on muslce stiffness, once I took a yoga class but had to quit. On a previous attempt to quit booze I mentioned to a friend that I was feeling stiff and really stressed out. I was withdrawing at the time, of course, but she didn't know that part. She suggested yoga, really pushed it in fact. I've always seen yoga as sort of new-agey, so I resisted but finally gave in. I went with her to her next class.
The class had its share of gorgeous women and I was one of only two guys, but it went downhill from there. First off, near as I can tell, sex is the absolute last thing on their minds. Women in general just seem to be able to turn sex off when they want. There should be a law against that.
They did this deep sucking-in-of-air thing while holding a pose and then all at once the class "released", and I swear the girls sounded like they were having the best or first orgasms of their lives. It was so over the top forced it was ridiculous, like when porn stars start screaming in ecstacy the moment the dude unzips his pants.
The sounds were all over the map, too, like some twisted a-capella. A few were normal (whatever a normal orgasm sounds like) but most spanned the range from mating gorilless to tortured opera singer. Of course my view was often hampered, positioned as I was with my ass in the air but the visions they conjured of what the associated woman looked like ranged from frumpy school marm to repressed nun, not a Pam Anderson in the mix at all.
In between orgasm sounds I heard farting, then soon smelled it. I was out of my element and unfamiliar with yoga class cultural norms, but about ten minutes in the first one happened and that was basically the signal to all that it was game on. Every couple minutes someone let one go. Did I mention it was roasting hot? So there I am, surrounded by beautiful women, my brain fizzing and sizzling with withdrawal, drenched in sweat and a fecal cloud, and chicks are making orgasm sounds while world music plays in the background.
My mind recoiled at the absurdity of it. I thought I might be going crazy. If I'm in a hot car with three women and I let out a giant fart followed by an "OHHH GAWWWWWWD" orgasm sound, I'm pretty sure the reaction would not be good. Yet not only was this scenario perfectly acceptable in this classroom, people paid money for the experience.
I looked over at my friend with a WTF expression but she was eyes closed, off in zen land and making her own orgasm sounds. No choice but to hang on. Ride this whole thing out. Incidentally, I wasn't terribly attracted to her but her orgasm sound was so off-putting it shut the door on us ever having courtesy sex.
One vision is etched on my brain forever. There was an indian girl with an unbelievable body and a face that made me want to kiss the toes of god almighty. She was petite and had a butt made of two bocce balls and breasts forged from the collision of two stars. You could land airplanes on her stomach. At the beginning of the class I positioned my mat so I could sneak looks over at her. The instructor lead us into a pose and she lifted her arm to reveal a golf-ball-size matted sweaty afro in her underarm. I recoiled, aghast. And now that's what I had to look at for the rest of the class.
Yoga was not all bad. What I didn't expect is how hard it was, insofar as the workout itself I mean. I thought it was some sort of hippy-dippy fake exercise to make women feel like they were "grrls", but I was pouring sweat fifteen minutes into it. My muscles were literally shaking with the exertion and I wasn't sure if I could make it through the class. Jeez, it was embarrasing. All these women around me going through it all effortlessly, farting and orgasming and twisting into pretzels like nothing, and I was ready to pass out.
At the end they did a meditation and they started with the whole "praise vishnu" chanting thing. That was basically when I was done with yoga. I just don't go down that road. Whatever floats your boat, but it sinks mine. Keep your yoga and I'll keep my pizza rolls and video games.
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Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Somewhere, NJ
Posts: 27
Today is likely to be a bit rough. I woke up this morning and the nascent sparks of mania soon manifested while I drank my morning coffee. It's never a good sign when they start early.
On the upside, between not drinking and getting rid of the laptop, I've been sleeping better. Usually around 7.5 hours a night. And it's easier to get to sleep, too. I used to put on a 10-hour youtube video of rain sounds to help me sleep, but I don't need to any more.
Yesterday at work I took a power nap in my car. These have also become easier. It was very hard to relax enough, and in a short enough time, and particularly with ambient noise or too much light. Now I can just will myself into relaxation. It's no quiet sandy beach, in fact it's often a parking lot in some faceless corporate complex, but it's enough.
I feel a little guilty about the laptop. I reloaded everything but the fact is I watched quite a lot of pornography on it. Now my sister is merily click-clack-clakeckety-clicking away on it. Well, the reason she needed it in the first place is she's perennially broke. My guilt balances out with my quiet disappointment at her lack of motivation. Yet my act of charity, though imbued with a fairly accurate account of my sexual preferences and perversions, still sincerely hopes she gets her act together.
On my way into work, I felt compelled to sing, and sang a bit. Again, for me this is a sign that I'm getting a little too excited. When I got in to work I skipped the second cup of coffee and had kava and decaff tea instead. A slight headache was forming, so I went for the pills as well. Now I feel okay. For now. Two lengthy meetings today. I have to keep conscious tabs on my mental state today.
On the upside, between not drinking and getting rid of the laptop, I've been sleeping better. Usually around 7.5 hours a night. And it's easier to get to sleep, too. I used to put on a 10-hour youtube video of rain sounds to help me sleep, but I don't need to any more.
Yesterday at work I took a power nap in my car. These have also become easier. It was very hard to relax enough, and in a short enough time, and particularly with ambient noise or too much light. Now I can just will myself into relaxation. It's no quiet sandy beach, in fact it's often a parking lot in some faceless corporate complex, but it's enough.
I feel a little guilty about the laptop. I reloaded everything but the fact is I watched quite a lot of pornography on it. Now my sister is merily click-clack-clakeckety-clicking away on it. Well, the reason she needed it in the first place is she's perennially broke. My guilt balances out with my quiet disappointment at her lack of motivation. Yet my act of charity, though imbued with a fairly accurate account of my sexual preferences and perversions, still sincerely hopes she gets her act together.
On my way into work, I felt compelled to sing, and sang a bit. Again, for me this is a sign that I'm getting a little too excited. When I got in to work I skipped the second cup of coffee and had kava and decaff tea instead. A slight headache was forming, so I went for the pills as well. Now I feel okay. For now. Two lengthy meetings today. I have to keep conscious tabs on my mental state today.
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Join Date: Jul 2013
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Posts: 27
I have today off from work. The small army of middle-aged women in the HR Department has wagged it's collective prim and proper finger at me, and told me I still have too much vacation on the books. They advised either I need to submit another vacation plan or take the next two Fridays off, or lose it altogether - and since I don't work in this hell hole out of the goodness of my big ******* heart, door number three isn't an option. It's happy kismet that it coincides with my attempt at sobriety, so I didn't put up much of a fight.
With the day off I got to thinking of some of things which have changed since I stopped drinking.
Posting on this site has been helpful. The words of encouragement and knowing there other people in the same miserable boat hopefully sailing for eventual paradise. Or maybe not paradise, but anywhere is better than here. I imagine I'm speaking to a group of people even if we're not in the same room. And re-reading my thoughts from even a week ago is enlightening, because the feeling I get when I do is that they were of six months ago. In some ways the change is so subtle and yet so rapid, but all the while affirming my choice.
It's only been about 25 days, hardly out of the frying pan, but in another 25 days, who knows where I'll be. I could feel like I've made enough progress I don't need or want to look back anymore. Or I could be sitting on a bar stool with a drink in my hand, mostly happy as a clam, with just a nagging sense of failure that gets smaller and quieter with each drink. Then the next day of pure loathing. Then five years and fifty pounds later, writing this exact same thing.
Right now, today so far is a good day, and the 25 that preceded it. The sun is shining on those days, and will forever. You can't go back and erase the bad times, but likewise, nobody can ever take away the good times.
In the last week, week four, the headaches and mental cloudiness have gradually lifted. Starting at week 3, when I returned to work, I suffered a nearly constant headache, like my temples and neck had one of those claws from the arcade machines clamped to my head. Now the headaches are occasional. Two advil and 15 minutes and I'm fine.
The cravings come and go. The worst is from around 3PM - 7PM, that anticipation of the after work drink to deal with the work stress. That's gonna be there for a long time. That's where it'll hunker down and settle in for the long siege. That's Iwo Jima. That's the Alamo. Whenever I think I'm getting the upper hand a craving hits me out of nowhere and reminds me of what left this outlaw torn.
My mind is sharper. Math is easier to do in my head, for example. I'm not at 100 percent, and who knows if I'll ever be again, but I'm not at the stumbling, mentally-backtracking 75% or so I was for over five years. I'm amazed at my progress over this short time, particularly in the last two weeks.
When I was at the zoo I saw a monkey with particularly long arms, perfectly suited for swinging around, which he did effortlessly. I thought how lucky he was to have something that useful, I bet he doesn't even have to move his upper body to wipe his ass. For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought of how unlucky humans are that we don't have a cool thing like that. Then I realized what an idiotic thought that was. Humans have the best adaptation of them all: a big brain.
What would I have thought if that monkey set about breaking his own arms?
I'm in slightly better shape. My muscle tone is just a tad better. I stand straighter more often. My fitness level is no longer actively being suppressed by alcohol. At the same time I don't get much exercise and I'm single-handedly impacting the world pizza roll demand. But one thing at a time.
My skin is improved. When I was a kid I was proud of the fact that I could be out in the sun all day and I'd never burn, even without sun screen. I basked in my superiority while fair-skinned genetic inferiors plied handfuls of goop to their fragile hides. But drinking and smoking changed all that. A few hours in the sun without protection and I looked like a slab of beef jerky the next day. Now my skin is returning to something like it's old self. I look at it and it's almost hard to believe it's mine.
I can see at night better. That's useful for driving, or if I ever become a peeping tom.
Behind the wheel I'm not so paranoid. That drive home after four drinks. Was it too much? Did the glass of water help? Did I wait long enough to "sober up"? Should I take streets and avoid the highway? Do those headlights look like a cop's? Or being pissed off that I'm drunk enough to get busted but not drunk enough to feel drunk. And then seeing the guy pulled over doing the tests - next time it might be me.
At least while I'm sober, I'm just at risk for the usual speeding tickets, police brutality, and god willing, the hot cop who will let me off if I go back to her place and play "time off for good behavior".
I hope today is another good day, and I hope everyone else makes it through, too.
With the day off I got to thinking of some of things which have changed since I stopped drinking.
Posting on this site has been helpful. The words of encouragement and knowing there other people in the same miserable boat hopefully sailing for eventual paradise. Or maybe not paradise, but anywhere is better than here. I imagine I'm speaking to a group of people even if we're not in the same room. And re-reading my thoughts from even a week ago is enlightening, because the feeling I get when I do is that they were of six months ago. In some ways the change is so subtle and yet so rapid, but all the while affirming my choice.
It's only been about 25 days, hardly out of the frying pan, but in another 25 days, who knows where I'll be. I could feel like I've made enough progress I don't need or want to look back anymore. Or I could be sitting on a bar stool with a drink in my hand, mostly happy as a clam, with just a nagging sense of failure that gets smaller and quieter with each drink. Then the next day of pure loathing. Then five years and fifty pounds later, writing this exact same thing.
Right now, today so far is a good day, and the 25 that preceded it. The sun is shining on those days, and will forever. You can't go back and erase the bad times, but likewise, nobody can ever take away the good times.
In the last week, week four, the headaches and mental cloudiness have gradually lifted. Starting at week 3, when I returned to work, I suffered a nearly constant headache, like my temples and neck had one of those claws from the arcade machines clamped to my head. Now the headaches are occasional. Two advil and 15 minutes and I'm fine.
The cravings come and go. The worst is from around 3PM - 7PM, that anticipation of the after work drink to deal with the work stress. That's gonna be there for a long time. That's where it'll hunker down and settle in for the long siege. That's Iwo Jima. That's the Alamo. Whenever I think I'm getting the upper hand a craving hits me out of nowhere and reminds me of what left this outlaw torn.
My mind is sharper. Math is easier to do in my head, for example. I'm not at 100 percent, and who knows if I'll ever be again, but I'm not at the stumbling, mentally-backtracking 75% or so I was for over five years. I'm amazed at my progress over this short time, particularly in the last two weeks.
When I was at the zoo I saw a monkey with particularly long arms, perfectly suited for swinging around, which he did effortlessly. I thought how lucky he was to have something that useful, I bet he doesn't even have to move his upper body to wipe his ass. For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought of how unlucky humans are that we don't have a cool thing like that. Then I realized what an idiotic thought that was. Humans have the best adaptation of them all: a big brain.
What would I have thought if that monkey set about breaking his own arms?
I'm in slightly better shape. My muscle tone is just a tad better. I stand straighter more often. My fitness level is no longer actively being suppressed by alcohol. At the same time I don't get much exercise and I'm single-handedly impacting the world pizza roll demand. But one thing at a time.
My skin is improved. When I was a kid I was proud of the fact that I could be out in the sun all day and I'd never burn, even without sun screen. I basked in my superiority while fair-skinned genetic inferiors plied handfuls of goop to their fragile hides. But drinking and smoking changed all that. A few hours in the sun without protection and I looked like a slab of beef jerky the next day. Now my skin is returning to something like it's old self. I look at it and it's almost hard to believe it's mine.
I can see at night better. That's useful for driving, or if I ever become a peeping tom.
Behind the wheel I'm not so paranoid. That drive home after four drinks. Was it too much? Did the glass of water help? Did I wait long enough to "sober up"? Should I take streets and avoid the highway? Do those headlights look like a cop's? Or being pissed off that I'm drunk enough to get busted but not drunk enough to feel drunk. And then seeing the guy pulled over doing the tests - next time it might be me.
At least while I'm sober, I'm just at risk for the usual speeding tickets, police brutality, and god willing, the hot cop who will let me off if I go back to her place and play "time off for good behavior".
I hope today is another good day, and I hope everyone else makes it through, too.
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Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Somewhere, NJ
Posts: 27
In the last month or so I've been using a hand gripper for a little stress relief. After a crappy meeting or talking with some idiot or when cravings come on, I go into my office, shut the door and squeeze it as hard as I can, imagining it's the guy's wind pipe. It's no cure all, but another tool in my little arsenal.
It started long before that with a little giveaway trinket from a vendor. It was a small bean bag thing with their logo on it. I had a lot of stress to get rid of and I quickly squeezed that thing into oblivion. I wore a hole into it and it started leaking it's insides. A coworker had a foam one, and she gave it to me, but it, too, became too easy.
Next I went to the sports store and got gripper. It has a rubber ball in between the handles that you can move up or down to adjust the resistance. This was a huge step up, but after two weeks it started to get easy, and I stopped getting the stress relief and satisfaction like I did before.
So I quit messing around and ordered some pro grippers. They come in all sorts of resistance levels, which basically start at "injury rehab" and go up to "iron claw of Zeus." For perspective, the top level is number 4. The guy considered the greatest arm wrestler of all time could almost close number 3 in his prime. I bought the number 1.
While I got the gripper for stress and to help a little with cravings, a really nice side benefit is my forearms are starting to get nice and beefy. I've always had useless little t-rex forearms. I look at photos of myself and they're pudgy and baby-like. What woman would want to go arm-in-arm with those wimpy things? No woman, that's who!
I'm not looking around to date right now. I just don't need the stress of all that. But when I do go out with a girl again I'm definitely going to say, "Hey, what do you think of my forearms? Not bad, huh?" Probably not on the first date, though.
It started long before that with a little giveaway trinket from a vendor. It was a small bean bag thing with their logo on it. I had a lot of stress to get rid of and I quickly squeezed that thing into oblivion. I wore a hole into it and it started leaking it's insides. A coworker had a foam one, and she gave it to me, but it, too, became too easy.
Next I went to the sports store and got gripper. It has a rubber ball in between the handles that you can move up or down to adjust the resistance. This was a huge step up, but after two weeks it started to get easy, and I stopped getting the stress relief and satisfaction like I did before.
So I quit messing around and ordered some pro grippers. They come in all sorts of resistance levels, which basically start at "injury rehab" and go up to "iron claw of Zeus." For perspective, the top level is number 4. The guy considered the greatest arm wrestler of all time could almost close number 3 in his prime. I bought the number 1.
While I got the gripper for stress and to help a little with cravings, a really nice side benefit is my forearms are starting to get nice and beefy. I've always had useless little t-rex forearms. I look at photos of myself and they're pudgy and baby-like. What woman would want to go arm-in-arm with those wimpy things? No woman, that's who!
I'm not looking around to date right now. I just don't need the stress of all that. But when I do go out with a girl again I'm definitely going to say, "Hey, what do you think of my forearms? Not bad, huh?" Probably not on the first date, though.
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Join Date: Jun 2011
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Originally Posted by outoftime
The post office is probably responsible for more relapses than any other place on earth. It couldn't be a more soulless, depressing refuge of apathy and incompetence. I become acutely aware of my mortality, my limited time on this earth, as I stand in its life-sucking lines.
Next I went to starbucks. The girl behind the counter was extremely chipper. She was practically bouncing. It was too much that early in the morning. It was like waking up and blue man group is performing in your bedroom.
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Originally Posted by outoftime
But when I do go out with a girl again I'm definitely going to say, "Hey, what do you think of my forearms? Not bad, huh?" Probably not on the first date, though.
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Join Date: Dec 2006
Location: Canada
Posts: 4,580
Bukowski. Good call Jen. I will forever be reminded of Mickey Rourke's slurring "a drink, a drink for my friends"..whenever I hear that name.
Keep it up outoftime...your musings are highly entertaining.
Keep it up outoftime...your musings are highly entertaining.
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Join Date: Jul 2013
Location: Somewhere, NJ
Posts: 27
I had really bad cravings on the way home yesterday. I was meeting a friend after work for a quick talk about a project he's working on. He always likes to talk in person, even if it's just something quick.
He was at a bar. Uh oh.
When I agreed, I was feeling no cravings. And anyway, I'm around 25 days sober. How bad could it be? But an hour later, and an hour before I had to meet with him, the cravings kicked in.
Stupidly, I shrugged it off. Figured I just needed a walk and a cigarette. As the time drew near, I thought about cancelling with some excuse, but I was in that mental debate of being a flake vs the strength of the cravings. By the time I got to the bar I was peaking. It sucked. I chain-smoked. My hands started to shake a little.
Fortunately, the bar has a smoking area outside and that's where we met. Also, they were charging a cover, and I told my friend I wasn't drinking that night, so wasn't going to bother paying the cover. We ended up talking in the smoking area and I focused on the conversation and that I could get out of there soon.
Then, as if on cue, I look over and this cute girl is looking at me. I looked away, said something to my friend, and then looked back, and she gave a little smile.
Man, they don't roll out the welcome mat any better than that.
Part of me wanted to go over there so bad, so very bad. "Hi. Buy you a drink...?" it would start. And then we'd chat and smile and make little jokes and she'd ask me what I do and she's smart and saving some endangered animal and we like the same movies and the sex is great and then she has a twin sister and they share everything and...
But I couldn't. I just couldn't. Because even in that little millisecond fantasy I had a drink in my hand. I was barely keeping it together against the cravings. No way I could have lasted in that place.
I finished up with my friend and got the hell out of there. The drive home was like the scene in horror films where the girl is running away through the forest and gets snagged on every branch. Every light was red. Every green light had some straggler in the crosswalk whose life goal was apparently to savor the crosswalk crossing experience as if it was a beach sunset in Tahiti. No, really, take your time buddy. Light's only been red for a good fifteen seconds and cars are piled up for two blocks, but you go on ahead don't let that bother you one bit. In fact, why not pitch a tent? You seem like a great guy. Let's be friends. Let me introduce you to my sister even.
Around 20 blocks later the cravings finally started backing off. The traffic magically eased up. I got home a few minutes later. And a half hour later it was if it had never happened. And no one had any idea of the epic battle I'd just fought.
He was at a bar. Uh oh.
When I agreed, I was feeling no cravings. And anyway, I'm around 25 days sober. How bad could it be? But an hour later, and an hour before I had to meet with him, the cravings kicked in.
Stupidly, I shrugged it off. Figured I just needed a walk and a cigarette. As the time drew near, I thought about cancelling with some excuse, but I was in that mental debate of being a flake vs the strength of the cravings. By the time I got to the bar I was peaking. It sucked. I chain-smoked. My hands started to shake a little.
Fortunately, the bar has a smoking area outside and that's where we met. Also, they were charging a cover, and I told my friend I wasn't drinking that night, so wasn't going to bother paying the cover. We ended up talking in the smoking area and I focused on the conversation and that I could get out of there soon.
Then, as if on cue, I look over and this cute girl is looking at me. I looked away, said something to my friend, and then looked back, and she gave a little smile.
Man, they don't roll out the welcome mat any better than that.
Part of me wanted to go over there so bad, so very bad. "Hi. Buy you a drink...?" it would start. And then we'd chat and smile and make little jokes and she'd ask me what I do and she's smart and saving some endangered animal and we like the same movies and the sex is great and then she has a twin sister and they share everything and...
But I couldn't. I just couldn't. Because even in that little millisecond fantasy I had a drink in my hand. I was barely keeping it together against the cravings. No way I could have lasted in that place.
I finished up with my friend and got the hell out of there. The drive home was like the scene in horror films where the girl is running away through the forest and gets snagged on every branch. Every light was red. Every green light had some straggler in the crosswalk whose life goal was apparently to savor the crosswalk crossing experience as if it was a beach sunset in Tahiti. No, really, take your time buddy. Light's only been red for a good fifteen seconds and cars are piled up for two blocks, but you go on ahead don't let that bother you one bit. In fact, why not pitch a tent? You seem like a great guy. Let's be friends. Let me introduce you to my sister even.
Around 20 blocks later the cravings finally started backing off. The traffic magically eased up. I got home a few minutes later. And a half hour later it was if it had never happened. And no one had any idea of the epic battle I'd just fought.
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