Back on the wagon 'long happy trails

The skies shone an azure blue, bounding with white, fluffy clouds. A girl looking like she was dressed for Carnival whizzed by me uphill on a bicycle, and we smiled at one another. Out on the bay, someone took advantage of the beautiful day by boat. And I enjoyed my first drunken powerwalk in four weeks.

I honestly thought I'd be under the table after having a few mocktails Friday night, but no such trauma. Just a little headache in the morning. Then it was off to buy flowers at TJs, drop off the rent check, pick up a delicious veggie gyro, and generally enjoy the day. To say it's nice to have liquid sunshine back in my life would be an understatement.

I've decided I need to commit to doing at least one fun/adventurous thing a month. Even if it involves something simple like getting out of the city, like the lunch I had in Pinole at Ravina's last week. Something to break up the routine, even though I enjoy my routine.

This is largely motivated by my every day acknowledgement of just how fucking fast life flies by. Friday marked my fifteen year anniversary at work. You know when you're young and haven't experienced so much of life, everything feels like it takes longer. You have elementary school, middle school, high school, college--a life divided up by classes, periods, Christmas breaks, and summer vacations. Then you're dropped into Real Adulthood with an actual job, rent, bills, a gym membership. Everything races by and seems like it's only broken up only by the annual holiday party.

I'm fairly certain I'm halfway through my life at this point, if not more so. So I just don't want to miss out on something I might not have normally taken the initiative to experience before I'm too old, too tired, too physically incapacitated, too mentally worn to be able to appreciate it.

Enjoy yourself. It's later than you think.

No shit, Sherlock.

More exciting than a space shuttle launch countdown

This morning I woke up feeling like I had swallowed a bunch of ground up erasers.  Like, legit, it felt like I had a bunch of bits of rubber in my throat.  This may have had to do with the lunch I had at my friend Ravina's yesterday (bean and cheese pupusas) or the lack of roughage in my diet yesterday.  Couldn't tell you.  But I can tell you it definitely wasn't because of alcohol.

This will be the last weekend of Cocktail-free February™, and boy, I tell ya, it couldn't have come soon enough.  I knew going into this that everything that I'd hoped would happen--some minor weight loss, the sudden influx of energy, the naturally radiant skin, stabilization of sleep patterns--might not happen, and indeed, they did not.

What did happen is that I was able to live sans the sauce.  There were times when things were not as fun as they would have been with it, but things were still occasionally fun and sometimes even productive.  Of course, I knew all along that it would come to an end, so it wasn't like I was watching a dear friend die.  Rather, it was like said friend simply went off on vacation without me for a month, but will be coming back this Friday.  And won't it be great fun to see how Friday goes off with twenty six days sober days under my belt.

There were no enlightening realizations here, though.  No Lifetime movie-styled revelations.  When I don't want to drink, I don't.  I don't drink at work parties because they are, in part, still work as far as I'm concerned.  I wouldn't have drunk before going to Ravina's yesterday because I wanted to be sober to see and chat with her and meet her new baby.  I don't drink when I feel cruddy from drinking so much that I need to give my body a break, and because I know my tolerance is so high that drinking more will have no enjoyable impact.

So that leaves us at pretty much par for the course and eyeing the calendar for these last few days of this little experiment.

How dry I am and how wet I wish I was

Unsurprisingly, the second weekend of Cocktail-free February™ has not been nearly as novel as the first.  A few times, like when I glimpsed the vodka bottles at the back of the freezer or passed by a liquor store window, I had the thought of, "Fuck it!  Let's forget this shit and have a nip!  No one'll know!"

But I would know.  And my competitive side, which does not oft rear its head, challenged me to push on through.

Normally, the afterwash of endorphins from the week's gym visits would combine with the balm of alcohol over the weekend to compose a wonderful, sunshine-y feeling that really makes those two days worth living.  But, sans the sauce, I feel even more acutely than usual the gym fatigue.  Plus, the weight of sleeplessness I normally carry with me weighs even heavier without sugary mixers to combat it.

Yesterday, I tried cleaning and organizing the heap of CDs and DVDs under my desk, but my heart wasn't in it.  So I took a nap.  Then another.  It seemed like it barely put a dent in my sleepiness.

Also, I've realized that the hope of losing a few pounds may be for nought.  Without the deluge of alcohol as part of my caloric intake over the weekend, I'm instead eating regular food.  Saturday, that regular food consisted of a vegan sandwich, pico de gallo chips, a Pelligreno, and, breaking my rule of avoiding refined sugars, some chocolate chip cookies.  They didn't have trans fat, but still.  My argument with myself was that if I can't drink, I'm not going to suffer with what I eat.

I did make a productive day out of the holiday today by doing some clothes shopping, but the walk I took afterwards was cut short by my sense of general ennui and achiness.

Ten more days of this shit, then we poppin'.

Pain, pain, go away. Come again no other day

And today, on the tenth day of Cocktail-free February™,  I was awakened around 6:00 am by aching pains in my legs.  Normally, these sorts of pains are reserved for Sunday morning, when my body decides to begin recovering from the week's gym routine.  And it hurts like a mutha.

In fact, one Sunday morning a few years back when I was with my trick paramour at the time, he began to engage in some bedroom play with me, but said gym fatigue nixed the deal.  The spirit was willing, as was one very crucial part of the body, but the rest of me couldn't move.

But this morning's agony was odd.  I had only gone to the gym once last week.  I did have some nice walks up hills over the weekend, but nothing out of the ordinary or too strenuous.  So I popped an Aleve in the hopes of getting in a few precious hours more sleep.

This is all of note because I'm watching with some interest to see how my body and brain react to the continued absence of alcohol.  Maybe my legs were just ready to jump off my body and race to BevMo at their earliest convenience?  Only the Lord Jesus up in heaven knows.

One down!

My first weekend of Cocktail-free February™ went off without a hitch.

I did much of the same shit I usually do on weekends, but also watched two whole movies, finished a video game, and cleaned off my desk, an unwieldy hodge podge of clutter, cologne samples, photos, and faggoty potions all coated with a fine layer of cat hair.  Next week, I will begin packing my old yearbooks and CDs, which are now clustered under said desk, which is intended to be my earthquake safe spot.

One thing I found funny about the weekend is that my little constitutionals around the city, which usually feel like they're a good hour or two when I'm on the drink, were more like forty five minutes or so.  Time slows to a comfortable crawl when you're havin' fun, I guess.  Amusingly enough, as I walked out the door Sunday, there were two fliers for some alcohol delivery service sitting right outside the building.  But it wasn't like there was a moment where I thought I would burst into flames if I didn't have something to drink.  I did feel that way, though, those several years ago when I last tried this little experiment.

I am very much looking forward to the supposed influx of energy that comes with being dry for an extended period of time.  Don't know if it will be nearly as awesome as that first swig after the month is up and my tolerance has dropped to a new all time low.  *cue sorority girl whooping*

Forty days and forty nights...give or take a dozen

I'm going alcohol-free--with the exception of hand sanitizer--for the month of February.  No, it's not in honor of Black History Month.  I just thought I'd give it a shot.  Of course, I'm hoping it will mean the pounds will drop away and that my circadian rhythms will stabilize and my skin will glow a radiant golden hue.  But I'm realistic.  It will be like a vacation, but without the actual fun.  And I have plenty of things to occupy my time.

My room, for one.  Tifferbee brought with her a steam cleaner when she moved in, and my carpet could definitely use a run through. In addition, I have all of my belongings from high school and college my mom shipped me a few months ago to put in storage  boxes.  And I haven't cleaned out my closet, which contains all manner of things of VPA's when he lived here, since I moved in some nine years ago.

Too, I can do things like watch movies and play video games.  I tried to go a month sober several years ago, but I think it was before I had internet at home.  This go round, I have plenty to occupy me.  

And who says I can't do my usual walks around the city?  Just this time, without a to-go thermos.

I'm not too nervous about it.  I just hope it is worth it to some degree.  I won't have to dread Monday mornings or terrible Tuesdays, at least.  And I'm leaving the last weekend of the month as a wild card--if I want to hop back on the sauce starting then, I shall.

Part of this has also been sparked by the fact that I had a wild, sleepless night over the winter holiday from which I'm still recovering.  I do not do well on missed sleep, and I swear, it's just snowballed for the past several weeks.  I'm not getting deep REM sleep and my gym routines are killing me because my body isn't recovering appropriately.  I have migraines due to sleeplessness, but just can't sleep.

So, raise a glass of virgin name-your-poison to February.