There are so many things that I want to tackle. I want to start a pallet garden, I want to plant the flower boxes on our balcony, I want to fix up the patio so it’s enjoyable to sit out there and BBQ. All of these things I have wanted – and meant – to do for a long time. Every time I imagine myself elbows deep in potting soil, or pressure washing the stones on the patio I always envision a cool, refreshing class of wine, beer or a cocktail within arms reach.
I am relieved to not be drinking, really. It should be one less thing to think about, but instead, it’s all I think about. I don’t want to drink, exactly, but it’s in the forefront of my mind. Every activity seems to require alcohol, even planting flowers, apparently.
Last night I was feeling crummy. My stomach was upset, I was tired and out of sorts. I was annoyed at my husband for saying he’d do the dishes, and yet there they sat, almost 24 hours later. I’d had a long, busy day. I’d left work, gotten groceries, and walked the dog. I had been home for all of 2 minutes, staring at the sink, feeling drained, when my husband arrived home. I calmly asked him to please do the dishes before I started dinner and his response was, “Yes. Give me a moment to decompress! I just walked in the door.” Well, so had I. I, too, had worked all day and also gotten groceries to make dinner for the two of us, and walked our beloved dog. I hadn’t had even a moment to myself.
In that moment, I knew what drinking me would have done. I would have snapped a snarky comment in his general direction. I would have waited for him to go upstairs and I would have cracked open one of the two bottles of wine I’d inevitably purchased. I’d have poured myself a giant mug full so that if he came downstairs he wouldn’t notice exactly WHAT I was drinking. I would have finished that bottle while passive aggressively doing the dishes (and being pissed about it) and cooking dinner. Then I would’ve crack open the 2nd bottle with our meal. I’d have drank it out of a wine glass and offered some to my husband, hoping (and knowing) that he’d say no. I most likely would have sulked about having done the dishes (MY DECISION, mind you) until falling asleep on the couch in the middle of a movie.
Instead, I said, “Okay. I just got home, too.” He went upstairs, and I decided that decompressing was a fabulous idea. I put on some HGTV and fixed myself a comfort drink:
I call it a Will-See-Ya Sunrise. Mandarin Orange seltzer, a drop of Grenadine, an orange slice, a cherry and absolutely zero alcohol; making my early morning run that much more enjoyable because I will be able to wake up for it, and….see the sun rise.
While I sat on the couch sipping my beverage and enjoying HGTV, my husband came downstairs and did the dishes. Our evening ended with dinner and a movie and not one snarky, passive aggressive comment. Oh, and I didn’t fall asleep on the couch. I’m learning that it’s all about the little things. Cheers to two weeks of sobriety!