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.
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