Saturday was seven days. Seven days of slightly more peanut butter cups and Doritos than I normally eat. Seven days of 2 (sometimes 3) diet sodas almost every night. Seven days of of keeping crazy-busy in the evenings for fear of sitting down with nothing to do.
Seven days since I stopped drinking.
Ok, that was overly dramatic. I’m not stopping wholesale. I’m not going to shy away from having a glass of wine on a date, or a cocktail (or two) at a party. But I won’t be drinking at home. I won’t be having a glass of wine with dinner when I’m alone, because clearly I can’t stop with just one. I end up drinking half the bottle, or sometimes (more often than I’d care to admit) the whole bottle. So I have to be done.
The irony is that I have about 6 bottles of wine in the guest bedroom closet (where it’s cool). And even odder, having it there makes me feel a little better, in the same way that sometimes having junk food in the house makes me feel calmer, especially if I’m not eating it. It’s like I GET to make the choice to treat myself better. It’s not something I’m forcing on myself or depriving myself of: it’s right there for the taking. But when it’s right there and I CHOOSE not to eat it, it makes me feel more in control, calmer, less obssessive. I know that sounds weird, and occasionally it doesn’t work, but most of the time it works pretty well. (Plus the next time I have a party, at least I won’t have to buy wine. ;D)
In the meantime, I’ve been eating a few more chips and PB cups, and drinking a LOT more diet soda. It’s not something particularly great, but for the moment it’s better than the alternative. It DOES mean though, that I need to be more diligent about the gym this week. (Last week I ended up fighting a virus, so I only went a couple of days.)
So, yeah. Seven days. Since I haven’t been drinking though, I’ve noticed that I have a low-level, constant sort of anxiety going on. That’s the reason for the sugar and the chips. (Well, that and the fact that wine has a shitload of sugar in it, so when I removed the wine, my system went into sugar withdrawal.) So I need to go back to meditating or something. Either that, or start viewing my gym time the way I did when my Grandpa died: as the one 45-minute segment of the day that was MINE, ALL MINE, MUAHAHAHAHAAA! Um. Yeah. Ahem.
But that’s kind of how I felt about it: for 45 minutes (give or take) I didn’t have to think about anything. I could just get on the treadmill and lose myself in LOST or Fringe or some other show. I got 45 minutes a day to zone out, and I was pretty ferocious about keeping it. Whiiiiiich has its good points and bad points. The good is obvious, but the bad is that (like everything else) I tend to get obssessive about it. But it does help alleviate that anxiety for the most part.
(Moderation. What is this thing you speak of?)
So Monday morning I’ll make a trip to the gym. And Monday night I’ll clean the house and cook some dinner. And probably down a couple of diet grapefruit sodas. But for the moment, it’s better than the alternative.