Slowing Time

There was a three legged cat and it stopped in the middle of the road and curled to scratch itself with the leg that had been cut off.
The little bone under the skin near the hip moved up and down really fast, like it would have had it had a leg attached and was scratching the cats chin.
The cat's eyes sort of rolled back in it's head like it was enjoying it even though there was no contact being made.
Nothing was really being scratched - just the ritual of the scratch and it looked like it was just as soothing.

And as alcoholic, drinking on my fears and failures although nothing was actually happening.
Like scratching my chin with an air leg. 

Risking everything to stop in the middle of the road to scratch an itch.

This time last year I was swirling towards the final weeks of my drinking. The end of summer or the change of seasons is always a time for reflection and no doubt my simmering alcoholic thinking had me more focussed on the missed opportunities of the summer rather than the beautiful simple parts.
So invariably I found myself drinking harder and harder as though somehow I would be able to slow time by maintaining a constant state of drunkenness. I can admit I was drinking throughout the days and was minutes away from a drink when I was not at work. So everything was falling apart.  Business, relationships, everything was sort of rotting in the humidity of autumn.


This time, at the change of season, I have something different to contend with. It is as though I have proved to myself that I can go without alcohol for long periods of time. Am I searching the next challenge?  I have definitely reached a plateau, as it evidenced by my recent drinking episode. So it is for me to refocus and find a new goal, which for me is always about reaching endpoints, not so much about maintaining things along the way.

Big Chunks then Drunk

I've always been great at starting on projects and nearly as good at being able to keep the end in sight and powering on to the finish. And there was no better a motivator as an alcoholic to be able to sign off on a project and then drink into oblivion. Stand next to the completed project, whatever it was, and stare at it and drink glass after glass of wine reflecting on what a triumph it was.

And sort of keep drinking for however long it was afterwards (days, weeks, even months) just reminding myself that I was a successful bastard and that even though I might drink a bit too much now and then, at least I was able to pull off the big jobs. I can execute when it comes down to it - I would say to myself by way of congratulation and start on another afternoon of drinking.

You see, I had life cut out into these big gamechanging chunks and each chunk was indeed a huge accomplishment, and left plenty of time for flouncing around drunk in between, like the lion basking in the sun in between kills. If I could rise to the occasion, and pull of big deals and scrape through intact, it would mean I could lie low and resume my 'normal' lifestyle of being a fat lazy drunk most days in between. But all that changed with going sober.

Now, life isn't big chunks and getting drunk - it is more a marathon. I am pacing myself with steady, responsible options and living as though there will be a tomorrow and that I will be fresh and active when it comes.

*

Knowing there is an end point is a great comfort - perhaps the never-endingness of sobriety finally caught up with me and I didn't value the weight of sober days I had behind me. Or I was just curious and basically vulnerable and took it for granted more likely.

So things are back on track round here - to "focus your mind running everyday a great way" as Yoda might say. Running and getting out early in the morning clarifies life. Let's all keep sober and above all else value our honesty.

The Myth of Sisyphus

As an alcoholic I have learned a few things over this past year.

Like I am only just learning to trust myself.

And that temptation is not a game or a challenge or a something to tip toe along to test your balance.

Temptation is a big bag of bricks looming ominously overhead with you stuck below toying with the knot that keeps it from release. You have to just know how much it would fucking hurt just by looking at it. So don't even think of touching the rope or even just poking it once. Leave it there.

*

Anyway, to be perfetly honest, I did drink. I opened a bottle of red wine and drank it while I listened to music and read through some old books. And then I had another bottle of even more expensive wine.

I even cracked the seal on a bottle of scotch and had a swig just straight up. I was drunk and sitting outside and even went rummaging through my wife's shit to find some stale cigarettes and had a few of them. Then it was 3am and I fell asleep.

*

And I woke up and I was hungover and I still needed a haircut. So I went and got a haircut and life was still there, happening, just that I had let myself down.

I drove the three hours to the wedding in the rain and at a small town just outside the vineyard I stopped in the mainstreet and walked along until I found a pub and, yep, I went inside and had a beer. All the usual suspects were there, not talking, just staring at screens on the wall or their drinks.

I read the paper and the beer sat there, like it wasn't supposed ot be there and I didn't drink half of it. Left it there.

Then I drove closer to the wedding and about 5 kilometers out there was a roadhouse type hotel and I stopped there and bought some cigars and another beer. I smoked and drank the beer sitting outside and felt lonely and pathetic. Drinking again. Standing by the bar and ordering a drink. Like I was normal, not an alcoholic.

*

At the wedding I didn't drink - the guy opposite me turned up late for the reception and had vomit on his tie - he said he had drunk a whole bottle of Jack. I looked at him and curled my lip. Officially, I wasn't drinking and no one knew, not yet anyway.

After the speeches, my wife came over and laughed that it was funny that the beer was my favorite - a premium brand that I would buy 'for special occasions' and how ironic it was I wasn't drinking it. I sort of laughed too.

Then I sort of said I would have a beer. And I did and soon I had about ten and then I brought out a bottle of vodka and drank half of it too. It was, and I appreciate this is an over-used term, but it was surreal and it was like it wasn't really me, as though I was sort of just testing it.

But, it was me, and it was alcohol and there was no denying the utter hopeless of me drinking again. There I said it, those words of utter hopelessness - drinking again.

The blurry childhood-memory-image of the kids crying and whispering "Dad's drinking again" and me there like a big fool proudly holding a drink in my hand like it's not a hand grenade. Like it's just a drink.

*

Next morning I was hungover and walking around taking photos of the set, trying to be inconspicuous and avoid people. The drive home was quiet and sad and we called into my wife's parents' house. It was someone's birthday and they were all drinking. Perfect for me to flow on to more drinking. Effortless. Seamless. Flow.

I didn't drink anymore, except for a long hard swig on the vodka from out of the boot of the car when I had to go and get everyone's swimmers. Glug glugged as much of the half bottle of vodka as I could without my mouth exploding and put it back like a sneaky alcoholic and cleared my throat and went back to the party. Feeling dead inside. Like it wasn't really happening.

*

That night I came down to a hangover and I felt anxiety and dread and thought sex would get me through it, but it was just anxiety. JUST anxiety? I was up half the night, hot and sweaty and tired and hungover and thirsty and just thinking all I need is a few glugs of something and the anxiety'll go away.

I reset my Days Sober counter on February 10 after 297 days sober.