Work has been busy today. I have gotten a million little things done, and started on a few bigger projects that will take awhile to complete. Just now, as I sat down to address a couple of envelopes, I had this thought:
“I can’t wait to have a drink after work!”
It caught me completely off guard and now I am here writing instead of continuing my productive streak.
So many others have said that any excuse was a good excuse when it came to drinking; good day, bad day, a day. Drink to celebrate, to mourn, to pump yourself up before going out, to unwind when you get home. Drink to be social, drink to relax by yourself. I am in agreement. Every reason was a great reason.
Some mornings, riding the bus into work, hungover and angry at myself, I would shudder at the happy hour I had planned for the evening (and there was always a happy hour). I would vow to drink soda, iced-tea, water, anything without alcohol. Instead, I’d nurse my hangover at work and when 4:00 p.m. rolled around I was ready for Round 2.
These days, there are no happy hours on the calendar. The booze hound inside my head is resting on her laurels, though, patiently waiting for me to slip up and celebrate/mourn/pump up/wind down again. She’s a pro at finding any old excuse to drink.
Today is not the day, however. Today is Day 20. Today is dinner at home with my husband and best friends. Today is the satisfaction that I’ve gotten a ton of work-stuff accomplished that I definitely would not have if I’d been hungover.
And to celebrate? Well, the lack of happy hour plans has done wonders for my bank account. I am currently tucking money away each week and I have a tattoo appoint for Day 60. That’s much more satisfying than any glass of wine will ever be.