I’ve had a crazy day 88. Lots going on at work. Amongst other things, I had a small accident when a boiling tube (large test tube) of boiling ethanol bubbled over, and scalded me on the thumb (ow!) and caught fire on the bench. Oops. Thankfully nothing worse than a blister on my thumb was the result. And, mercifully, nobody was watching. How embarrassing would that have been?!
Is there a message in there somewhere? Alcohol is dangerous and volatile, and you can get your fingers burned if you misuse it…?
Maybe I need to think about that a bit more carefully, because in the last few days, I have really been wanting to drink wine. I know I’m not helping myself because I seem to drift along with no real plan. I mean, I have goals, ideas of what I’d like to achieve, but I’m not good at organising my time, especially in the evenings. And I drift and drift, staying up too late, leaving me with less energy for the next day and so it goes on.
Exactly my behaviour when I was drinking, but then I slept terribly. At least I sleep well now.
Whether it is the upcoming wedding that’s making me have these thoughts, I’m not sure. My mind seems to conjure up possible scenarios in which a drink would go very nicely. Situations which I think might occur in the future, and I hear myself say ‘Oh it’s OK, you wont miss out, you’ll probably be back on the wine by then’.
There is obviously still a part of my brain that is not convinced of this sober thing. Wolfie still has a voice, sometimes loud and clear. I worry that this is coinciding with the wedding, and I worry that I might not make it to the end of day 90.
Or at the very least, that day 90 will be a huge struggle. But I cannot give up with only ten days to go. ten days is nothing, but one day might cost me everything….
I feel a bit better for having written that. My husband has had a couple of glasses of white wine tonight, and we were both at the computer looking at something. I could smell the wine. If I think about that, and think about how the wine would feel in my mouth (horrible and vinegary), and how my body would feel after a few glasses (fuzzy head, thirsty, drowsy), the appeal does lessen.
Please leave, Wolfie. You’re not welcome here.
I am happy to be sober. Happy to be me. I would not be me if I drank. Wolfie would drown me. I must tell myself, over and over and over.