Wow. Eight months, people. Hang on, that calls for another cup of coffee…talk amongst yourselves. I’ll give you a topic: a jellybean is neither made of jelly nor is it a bean. Discuss.
Now, where was I? Ah, eight months. I had a good night last night and remember standing in the kitchen (the scene of many drinks) and thinking, Man, this is so much better than sneaking shots or worrying if there’s enough wine for the night. Of course there had been enough wine. Good heavens, there was always enough and then some. At one point, I opened the freezer to get something and one of the ice packs looked like a little stashed pint of vodka. I blinked, and the trick faded. I shook my head and shut the freezer door. I felt a twinge, which is better than a craving.
Even though I’m doing well, my brain’s been funky the last few days. I’ve had trouble turning thought into words, and as a result have been pausing before speaking or stopping right in the middle of a sentence (some would say that’s not a bad thing). It makes me feel a little weird, though, just as it makes me feel weird when my balance goes all wonky and I stumble when I walk. I know it’s all part of Post-Acute Withdrawal Syndrome and the worst thing I can do is stress about it. The instances of poor balance and confused speech are few and far between; I hadn’t experienced these particular PAWS symptoms in quite a while. All I can do is be grateful that the reason I’m stumbling or struggling to speak fluently is PAWS and not alcohol wreaking further havoc on my brain.
Creative writing continues to go well, as does music composition. I haven’t submitted any poems to markets for publication like I said I would, so that’s a goal for the next month. Musically, I’ll keep writing songs and putting them on Soundcloud. It’s fun, and that’s enough for now.
Time to walk the dog and have a bit of breakfast. I’ll make pancakes for the family when they wake up, but I can’t wait two more hours. Have a good, sober weekend, everyone.