I finished my post yesterday and felt a super-human amount of energy and strength. Yay me!
Until I got in the car to drive home.
Typically my drive home was filled with anticipation of the magic elixir of happiness and release waiting for me the moment I crossed my home threshold.
I decided to go to the gym because I had time.
Time is an interesting concept to this alcoholic. Why? Because an alcoholic with a very low tolerance for their pleasure poison has a much amended amount of time in a typical day to get shit done!
I have actually been jealous for years of friends and family who could drink and actually function. It is like they gained energy. Or at least seemed reasonably unfazed. Me? Ha. Not so much. Me having a drink, or two…three… well, that was more on par with receiving an instant IV of horse tranquilizers.
My days, for years, have been planned around the ceremonious first drink of the evening and the then quickly-paced slide in to the conclusion; more like a 12 to 14 hour day than the normal person’s 16 to 18. Not much can be accomplished when you are too hazy and tired to be of much use by 6 or 7 and need to crash by 9 (on a good night). It just isn’t enough time.
As I move half-way through day four, I find myself contemplating. All this time. It should be a blessing, but right now, it feels a bit like a taunting curse.