When the topic of drinking came up the other day, I knew I wanted to write about it but immediately dismissed the idea as it made me feel naked, vulnerable, and evil, thus making me want to write about it even more.  You might get to the end of this post and think, “Damn, she has a problem,” and perhaps I do; maybe that is why I am writing this.  But maybe, just maybe, I am using this as a way to motivate myself out of a current hole or provide justification that what I am doing is okay; perchance it is a situation someone else is struggling with too.  Congratulations, you had the opportunity to peek into a small hole in my brain, but not for long as things up there change as fast as Colorado weather.

One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

My nineteen-year relationship with alcohol has been as difficult a marriage as any.  In the early years, I had flings, affairs, and weird love triangles with the popular players like tequila, cheap vodka, and Budweiser (so much Budweiser, my stomach aches thinking of all of the grain I consumed; had I continued on I would have been crowned the Queen of beers that no college girl drinks but me).  I have done plenty of dumb, impulsive, heartbreaking, and death-defying things that I am neither proud of nor regretful of as they have showed me what I suck at – namely holding myself back from doing something new, different, or fun.  I used to tango with tequila on the regular:  In college I was gifted two fifths of Jose Cuervo by my roommates, guzzled one down with OJ and found myself wandering the dorm halls without my contacts in, mind you I am quite blind without them.  Drunk Jamie was on the loose, getting tangled with boys who know nothing of how to talk to girls (probably still do not but have wooed women that fall into their sticky spiderweb of feminine insults because of those damn eyes), and waking up not really sure what bad decision was landed on hours before waking up with the maniacal, clinging, and pestering monster of Hangover land.  Once tequila and I parted ways, I toyed with fruity cocktails and found I had the same opinion about them as I had about the makeup-drenched and tight-clothed wannabe superheroes drinking them.  I dabbled in the less-frivolous drinks, the ones that had only two ingredients – soda and booze – which confirmed my distaste for soda, the silent killer of America, and established once again my aversion to sweet things, which clings true to my dark soul.  

As I dated the various concoctions like the floozie I am, my trusty friend, craft beer, stood by patiently, waiting for me to get my wild inclinations out, and offering unconditional love.  Beer has been a companion since the tender age of sixteen (gasp!), and it has withstood my wild ideas and harebrained notions; it loves me no matter what, and it always brings at least five to twenty-three other friends to the party, twenty-nine if you are strapped for cash and want your drink diluted.  Beer is my friend, and I am not ashamed to deny it. I delight in the strong ones, the fruity ones, the hoppy ones, the dark ones – I do not discriminate, but I do have an affinity towards the sexy Belgians as they are witty (absolutely COULD NOT help myself there, heart still pounding from the pun), well-rounded, and deceivingly complex; everyone has a type.  

My other drinking buddy is quite the sage, teaching me sophistication with a twist of absurdity; they guide me on how to fake it until I make it and they take their hairy arm, reach it into my throat, pull out my guts, and make me come face to face with my true self whenever I hang with them.  Whiskey, you know who you are.  This also includes bourbon and scotch for the classy people out there, but I am too hypnotized and head over heels to study the difference between the three.  

Put the lime in the coconut and call me in the morning.

As my husband said when I disclosed my efforts to shape up my drinking habit, “You mean to tell me that you are the only stay-at-home mom with a drinking problem?”  He brings up a good point.  

I am aware this particular habit is unhealthy and could use some shaping up, but (and I will probably always say “but” when denying my drinking problem) drinking is a recreational activity that I can fully get behind and do not plan to divorce any time soon, but rather I want to learn how to cohabitate in a symbiotic and pleasant manner.  I enjoy the taste of beer, cocktails, and any drink that contains an ethanol derivative.  I like feeling different, I enjoy (and also can get my ass kicked from) the bravery it behooves in me, it makes music, movies, and scenery that much better, and it is the only proven way known to man to get a good night’s sleep while tent-camping.  

Beware, drinking is also prone to stealing an entire day from you should you take it too far, not eat enough beforehand, or consume too much at one time.  It can cloud up a lifetime of memories and socialize heavily with its friend, Missed Opportunities.  It wastes time yet makes good times. 

And you might say I’m bad off, but I chose the road I stumbled across

I fear I took the good times too far, and rather than Drinking remaining an acquaintance, it started creeping its way into my normal routine, wanting to be buddy-buddy with my pals Parenting, Writing, Exercising, and Crushing It.  I knew Alcohol was not cool enough to hang with the top players, but I failed to stop it; I wanted to watch the car crash, and now I am ferociously rewinding the tape to recalibrate to my best self.  

My tried and true method of resetting myself from a bad habit is to withhold and realize what life was like before I fell in love.  My other tactic is staying away from the beast all together, hence why I have never tried any drug that was made in a lab because I know I would love it way too much; I do not trudge past the category of those that are grown in the ground, you know who you are.

Recently I decided to practice my method on Alcohol by forcing myself not to drink during the week as a way to experiment and taunt my addictive personality.  I wanted to see if I had self-control and also observe what cutting back on drinking would do for my health.  Routinely working out has done wonders for my health, so let’s see what else this body is capable of.  

I read a lot about writing as I want to be one someday (correction:  I am a writer).  Most writers have an alcohol problem, my main influence sharing that he remembers nothing about writing one of his books from being so doped and sloshed up.  I am aware danger lurks, I see you, Addictive Personality, and I will not let you take over completely.  It is evident why rockstars and famous people get married to alcohol as they can keep pace and metabolize most of it through head-banging and running around like they are breakin’ the law, breakin’ the law.  **Sighs, kisses two fingers, salutes the air with a peace sign, and longs to be living that limousine-riding, champagne-poppin’ lifestyle someday**  A tribute to how alcohol is praised in mass media.  

Maybe I don’t have to be good but I can try to be at least a little better than I’ve been so far

One month into my low-accountability experiment and I have failed multiple times in my efforts of not having a drink during the week.  Hell, I am having a small glass of whiskey as I edit and add rewrites to this.  I made a few exceptions, so what; everyone is allowed grace, it is the key to balance. 

My exceptions for getting to drink one to two beers during the week include winter days that exceed 55 degrees and are sunny in the afternoon, tiny celebrations of life such as my first published piece of writing work, or after an emotionally turbulent day with the girls.  That last one is not a positive action, but again, life is all about balance; back off, nobody is perfect.  Some authors are out there writing textbook motivational posts where they only tout their strong suits and energy supplements, but I write about my blind spots and pain points.  We know who is making more money, but do we know who is more fulfilled?

If we are looking at this glass as being somewhat full, as I most often do, the bulk of my goal was met – I no longer hang out with Alcohol every day, I have regained self-control, a treasure I oftentimes misplace and “forget” to let inside, and I treat Alcohol as a kickass special guest and not as a normal part of the family.  I am guaranteed to violate this mindfulness around friends I have not seen or long-distance family I have not embarrassed myself around in a while.  This cadence could change as I age, and I am comfortable tackling those “problems” as they arise.

For now at least.  

On to the next vice.

“I’m in repair, I’m not together but I’m getting there.” -John Mayer (recently resurfaced this gem of a guy and am loving the journey of hearing his smoky voice again)