I did not drink last night.
I wanted to. I even decided that I would. I had a bottle of white wine in the back room closet, and I decided that if I had 2 and a half glasses last night, and 2 and a half tonight, that would finish the bottle (so it wouldn’t go bad before I got back from the convention, ya know).
I went home. A friend came over to pick up a coffee table that I no longer use, and he and his wife CAN use. I threw my laundry in the machine. And then I cleaned like a demon, trying to get it all done before my laundry timer dinged. And I did. I cleaned my whole house in 45 minutes. (Ok, I still had to wipe down the kitchen counters, but that was IT.)
And when it was all said and done, I was a little sweaty, and a lot tired, and . . . I just didn’t care about the wine so much.
So I had a diet soda and went to bed. A small victory, to be sure, but after the hell that was yesterday, I’ll take whatever I can get.
(Today I’m better, btw. Much. Still sad, still stressed, but at least functional. Thank you all for your kind words and concern.)