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'.
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