Had a lovely eve last night with my mate SJ. He’s an old buddy from my days at The Telegraph and we met up for a gossip and to chuck some ideas around about his next career move. He was with a couple of colleagues and they were sharing a bottle of red wine, but I happily imbibed my sparkling water and stayed for a few hours of bitching, cackling and putting the world to rights, as we do.
Funnily enough I caught the whiff of the wine as it was being poured and was quite turned off. It failed to make me yearn for some as it has often done in the past. It was quite a vinegary and rancid smell, which was no reflection on the quality as it was a jolly nice pub and their selection was fine. I simply believe that this was the sort of eve when I would have drunk out of habit, rather than from enjoyment of the vino on offer. I was reading recently that there are days when wine tastes good (all plummy and spicy and warming) and days when it tastes bad (all acidic such that it catches in the back of your throat) depending on the lunar cycle: http://www.guardian.co.uk/business/2009/apr/18/wine-lunar-calender-tesco-supermarkets .
Whilst I have often considered how hormones might affect taste, I’ve never really embraced the biodynamic movement (all Gwynnie ‘pale and sickly looking’ Paltrow in my mind). That said, I am more than prepared to accept that lots of factors come in to play so whether it’s fact, mumbo jumbo or witchcraft, I do appreciate that the allure of the wine will vary from day to day and therefore challenge me to varying degrees. Maybe I should simply stay at home and lock myself away on fruit days, though am not so sure that my boss will understand!
I was sorting out my finances yesterday, as I am in charge of the household budget. K hands that all over to me and I’ve been accused of anal retentiveness by many, as I have everything on a spreadsheet so that nothing takes me by surprise...Still, it’s my nature to be organised and I wouldn’t be an office manager if such things didn’t come naturally.
So I got to thinking about the amount I have spent over the years on booze. A rough calculation had me blowing (including big party nights out) say £200 a month, though if I am honest it was more like £300 if you factor in the following: taxis home when bladdered, coffees and carbs on way to work and at lunch the day after (my super-food salads having been discarded in favour of a stodgy ham and cheese baguette and lemon drizzle cake), umbrellas various left on trains etc etc. Even up until recently I was probably frittering away the best part of £40 a week on the whole boozing lifestyle, given the cost of a good bottle of wine and a pack of fags per session. Granted, fizzy water still costs and I won’t be going out for free but, at the same time, I am sure I can easily keep beverages down to about oooh £50 a month in total.
So I have about £150 extra a month to play with and that frightens me. I’ve been in London since October 1997. Given the amount that I estimate having frittered per month, with some deducted as I would have still gone out even if I hadn’t drunk, thereby working on £250 per month, I could have saved… wait for it, deep breath…£34,500.00…and breathe.
Did I really write that? I have absolutely nothing to show for it other than a ‘wine belly’ some UDIs that have healed over the years but are still visible and sweet yet hazy memories of a number of conquests….
Even if I chose to carry on spending that amount each month rather than simply adding it to either my savings or my pension (which would be just that bit tooooo sensible and sober!) I could use it for the following: 3 haircuts and some very expensive shampoo; 3 sessions of acupuncture and dinner at our local tapas/thai place; a totally indulgent spa day in a top London hotel; an a la carte lunch at The Ritz for 2; 2 pairs of decent shoes or 1 pair of fabulous shoes. All of these things would be beneficial to my health and appearance and would constitute a ‘treat’. None of them would leave me waking up the next day wondering ‘what happened last night, and where am I?’ as a heavy session has done on many an occasion. All are perfectly attainable and will spur me on to at least the end of this month. Watch out The King’s Road, here I come!!!!
Thursday, 30 April 2009
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
It's hilarious. Honest!!!
Well I am meant to be ‘lightening’ my subject matter today, but it’s not as if I can suddenly turn on the laughter track and make my life one long jolly old jape, eh, is it!
I met my friend A last night for a coffee and to say I feel humbled whenever we meet up, is an understatement. She is just embarking on the final stretch of her cancer treatment and after a wee op today, she has 6 weeks of radiotherapy to look forward (!) to. This is the tail end of months of chemo and a big op in early April, so to see her smiling and laughing last night and doing everything to put a bright face on things, puts me right back in my place. I may well moan, but she’s faced up to and overcome a serious illness and yet she’s still determined not to let things grind her down.
My acupuncturist would tell me off for this, as she maintains that other people’s challenges in life do not necessarily negate your own, but I beg to differ. I have always struggled with the ‘poor me’ brigade as I just don’t find that such a state comes naturally to me. I may have my mother to thank for this, as she has never suffered moaning, depression or even upset at trauma. We were always told to wipe our eyes, dust ourselves down and get on with it, regardless of the event. Funerals, major illness, job loss, relationships ending, no matter what, she abhors anyone wallowing in self pity.
I came home last night in a maudlin mood, as the skies were dark and heavy and I had had a long and demanding day at work. K and I went to bed early and chatted whilst we drank tea, as he could tell I was down in the dumps. He suggested it was post-Rye blues (apparently I was like this the last few times we were there) and that the total contrast between there and here and my yearning to escape the City for good, were the root cause of my malaise.
I also need to weigh up how much withdrawal from alcohol is playing a part. Facing up to bad stuff when you are stone cold sober is always a darn sight harder than when you have the warm fuzzy glow from a glass or two. That said, it’s been a while since I can recall the glow of the alcohol, as opposed to the anaesthetising effect that I had become much more used to.
I had lunch with my friend S today, whose parents have been as utterly vile as mine of late, so much so that they didn’t attend her wedding last year. We exchanged bitchy gossip on said subject yet again until we were rudely interrupted by her boss (and one of my ex ones) calling as she had managed to send him to the wrong cemetery for a funeral. S is a top-flight PA and in all the time she’s been working for this guy has not stuffed up once. Today was her cherry-breaking moment, and I was there to witness the look on her face as the foibles and failings of google became all too apparent. It did, however, remind me of that fuzzy brain syndrome you get with a hangover (though I must add here that she was not suffering the after effects of imbibing too much on this occasion), when simple everyday tasks that you execute normally without a thought, make your head hurt.
Every time I overindulge I know full well I will regret it the following day when the phone is ringing with candidates cancelling at last minute and my boss wants an urgent breakdown of the monthly accounts. Does it stop me ordering the next bottle of wine, though? Does it hell. Well, that’s all about to change as I am making a pact that even if/when I resume drinking, school nights will definitely remain out of the question. I am paid good money to do my job. Turning up with half a brain, a raging appetite for water and all things carbohydrate and a ‘don’t look at me, talk to me or smile at me’ face on, doesn’t exactly meet my side of the bargain, does it? Some might say that a glass or two max mid-week won’t exactly leave me wasted, but I am conscious of the fantastically slippery slope that takes me from devil mode to angel mode in the blink of an eye. As soon as I say ‘ah a cheeky one won’t hurt’ I can guarantee that 3 months down the line a cheeky one will be a bottle and my taxis home will be a slumbering blur. I know my faults so can honestly say that no amount of rehabilitation will ever put paid to that one.
I met my friend A last night for a coffee and to say I feel humbled whenever we meet up, is an understatement. She is just embarking on the final stretch of her cancer treatment and after a wee op today, she has 6 weeks of radiotherapy to look forward (!) to. This is the tail end of months of chemo and a big op in early April, so to see her smiling and laughing last night and doing everything to put a bright face on things, puts me right back in my place. I may well moan, but she’s faced up to and overcome a serious illness and yet she’s still determined not to let things grind her down.
My acupuncturist would tell me off for this, as she maintains that other people’s challenges in life do not necessarily negate your own, but I beg to differ. I have always struggled with the ‘poor me’ brigade as I just don’t find that such a state comes naturally to me. I may have my mother to thank for this, as she has never suffered moaning, depression or even upset at trauma. We were always told to wipe our eyes, dust ourselves down and get on with it, regardless of the event. Funerals, major illness, job loss, relationships ending, no matter what, she abhors anyone wallowing in self pity.
I came home last night in a maudlin mood, as the skies were dark and heavy and I had had a long and demanding day at work. K and I went to bed early and chatted whilst we drank tea, as he could tell I was down in the dumps. He suggested it was post-Rye blues (apparently I was like this the last few times we were there) and that the total contrast between there and here and my yearning to escape the City for good, were the root cause of my malaise.
I also need to weigh up how much withdrawal from alcohol is playing a part. Facing up to bad stuff when you are stone cold sober is always a darn sight harder than when you have the warm fuzzy glow from a glass or two. That said, it’s been a while since I can recall the glow of the alcohol, as opposed to the anaesthetising effect that I had become much more used to.
I had lunch with my friend S today, whose parents have been as utterly vile as mine of late, so much so that they didn’t attend her wedding last year. We exchanged bitchy gossip on said subject yet again until we were rudely interrupted by her boss (and one of my ex ones) calling as she had managed to send him to the wrong cemetery for a funeral. S is a top-flight PA and in all the time she’s been working for this guy has not stuffed up once. Today was her cherry-breaking moment, and I was there to witness the look on her face as the foibles and failings of google became all too apparent. It did, however, remind me of that fuzzy brain syndrome you get with a hangover (though I must add here that she was not suffering the after effects of imbibing too much on this occasion), when simple everyday tasks that you execute normally without a thought, make your head hurt.
Every time I overindulge I know full well I will regret it the following day when the phone is ringing with candidates cancelling at last minute and my boss wants an urgent breakdown of the monthly accounts. Does it stop me ordering the next bottle of wine, though? Does it hell. Well, that’s all about to change as I am making a pact that even if/when I resume drinking, school nights will definitely remain out of the question. I am paid good money to do my job. Turning up with half a brain, a raging appetite for water and all things carbohydrate and a ‘don’t look at me, talk to me or smile at me’ face on, doesn’t exactly meet my side of the bargain, does it? Some might say that a glass or two max mid-week won’t exactly leave me wasted, but I am conscious of the fantastically slippery slope that takes me from devil mode to angel mode in the blink of an eye. As soon as I say ‘ah a cheeky one won’t hurt’ I can guarantee that 3 months down the line a cheeky one will be a bottle and my taxis home will be a slumbering blur. I know my faults so can honestly say that no amount of rehabilitation will ever put paid to that one.
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Moving on...
It’s been ‘one of those’ days. The sort I would have fallen back on happily as a good excuse to have a drink this eve. Put simply, work’s been a shag, today. A real stress and one which I would have let grind me down were it not for the knowledge now that I can’t. It’s interesting how your mind works to fool you that you are stressed and need a drink when what you actually are is on edge and need to relax.
K’s eyes (he suffers from ongoing problems down to his illness) have been a nightmare too this week and he’s been battling with the NHS and local docs to get something sorted today. Meanwhile, an ex-colleague has been hacking into my email account in order to extract business development information and was found out last night. There has been the usual round of discussions and anxiety you would associate with such a thing, especially as he had also found a way to hack into one of the partner’s accounts. I felt totally violated as he would have had access to all my mails, personal as well as business. It's like having someone rifle through your underwear drawer and makes you realise how utterly immoral many people actually are. Just the sort of day when I would stop by an off licence on the way home, and make the requisite purchase of their finest wine.
Not today. I have been seeking out support and using other blogs to inspire me. If some other half-wit (no offence to the bloggers out there) can manage a year of sobriety, then so can I.
One guy I found last week has since ended his year and gone back to drinking, but his blog from 2007 was excellent all the same. I liked his language and style and the fact that he was funny, something I have spectacularly failed to be so far.
Tis not like me, as I try to inject some humour into most things but I’ve just noticed that this blog has been pretty heavy and wearisome for anyone reading it up to now. Maybe that’s where I am going wrong; treating this like a bad thing rather than a good one. I've decided that the best way forward from now on, is to alter my mindset with regard to the challenge and view the changes to my lifestyle as positive and good, rather than a chore.
I also bought a book recommended by this blogger called ‘Beat the Booze’. Typical of me, that. Every time I aim to do something (take up marathon running, climb the 3 peaks, eat healthily blah blah blah), I buy a book first to spur me on. It’s like I haven’t started until I have the cover of a glossy tome to stroke and the freshly printed paper to inhale!!! That said, my hit rate is pretty good. I completed both a marathon and the 3 peaks and have often spent months following absurdly healthy diets. What lets me down is not the achieving or completing of the task, but the continuation. When I stop, I stop completely (see previous entry on gluttony gene) so I have yet to master the art of not only moderating what I do bad, but also what I do good. I can only ever be a total devil or a complete angel and therefore swerve violently between the two. Hmmm. Food for thought (and in my case, the bigger the portion the better, eh?!).
K’s eyes (he suffers from ongoing problems down to his illness) have been a nightmare too this week and he’s been battling with the NHS and local docs to get something sorted today. Meanwhile, an ex-colleague has been hacking into my email account in order to extract business development information and was found out last night. There has been the usual round of discussions and anxiety you would associate with such a thing, especially as he had also found a way to hack into one of the partner’s accounts. I felt totally violated as he would have had access to all my mails, personal as well as business. It's like having someone rifle through your underwear drawer and makes you realise how utterly immoral many people actually are. Just the sort of day when I would stop by an off licence on the way home, and make the requisite purchase of their finest wine.
Not today. I have been seeking out support and using other blogs to inspire me. If some other half-wit (no offence to the bloggers out there) can manage a year of sobriety, then so can I.
One guy I found last week has since ended his year and gone back to drinking, but his blog from 2007 was excellent all the same. I liked his language and style and the fact that he was funny, something I have spectacularly failed to be so far.
Tis not like me, as I try to inject some humour into most things but I’ve just noticed that this blog has been pretty heavy and wearisome for anyone reading it up to now. Maybe that’s where I am going wrong; treating this like a bad thing rather than a good one. I've decided that the best way forward from now on, is to alter my mindset with regard to the challenge and view the changes to my lifestyle as positive and good, rather than a chore.
I also bought a book recommended by this blogger called ‘Beat the Booze’. Typical of me, that. Every time I aim to do something (take up marathon running, climb the 3 peaks, eat healthily blah blah blah), I buy a book first to spur me on. It’s like I haven’t started until I have the cover of a glossy tome to stroke and the freshly printed paper to inhale!!! That said, my hit rate is pretty good. I completed both a marathon and the 3 peaks and have often spent months following absurdly healthy diets. What lets me down is not the achieving or completing of the task, but the continuation. When I stop, I stop completely (see previous entry on gluttony gene) so I have yet to master the art of not only moderating what I do bad, but also what I do good. I can only ever be a total devil or a complete angel and therefore swerve violently between the two. Hmmm. Food for thought (and in my case, the bigger the portion the better, eh?!).
Monday, 27 April 2009
Damn. Hang my head in shame....
Soooooo. Weekend away. For my birthday. Did I manage to get away with not drinking? The answer is of course…well, actually here I have to fess up. I had to have a long, hard thunk about the challenge and consider a new start date. Yep, I fell off the wagon. Couldn’t be helped and am not planning on lamenting it with reams of tortured prose. Facts are:
a) I had an evening all to my self on the Friday which was bliss. K arrived on Saturday and we had a night in a deux with fish and chips. However, not drinking with dinner would have sounded major, major alarm bells for him as it would have been my birthday dinner and at least 10 days since I’d drunk, therefore so not like me. I gave in to some white wine (OK, not some, the bloody bottle...)
b) Sunday, the eve of my birthday, was slightly fraught and emotional as I didn’t get a card from my parents. Yes, alcohol is not a crutch for every emotional crisis but I like to think that something so major and so soon into the challenge could be forgiven.
I’ve been torturing myself ever since about what to write. Should I lie? Nope, never. Am just not capable as it goes against my ethics. Do I fess up and call it a blip? Nope as I see that as weak-willed and a failure. So I am telling the truth and proffering another suggestion.
Rather than count from 16 April (K’s anniversary) I shall now start the dry count from 26 April (my birthday). That way K’s anniversary remains his and his alone and my birthday becomes a landmark date. Not what I had in mind at the outset but the best outcome in my eyes for a failed attempt.
Don’t get me wrong, I am gutted at the false start but, on the other hand, can not beat myself up over it forever. I would rather draw a line and move on, spurred on by the failure of my parents to acknowledge the day that their daughter was born. If I can achieve this it will be proof that I am not the weak-willed waste of space that they have written me off as.
As for the weekend itself, twas lovely. Spent a lot of it in bed as we know Rye very well and it’s more of a rest and relaxation than a massive tourist trip, but we both came away feeling a darn sight better than when we arrived. The weather was fabulous – truly lovely sunshine and not too hot. The people who have the B&B where we stay are just fab and we have our own front door to the room. It’s like our own, personal retreat and we’ve booked to go again in early June, which can’t come soon enough.
Tis rainy, grey and miserable today, so not in mood to write any more. Day one. Again.
a) I had an evening all to my self on the Friday which was bliss. K arrived on Saturday and we had a night in a deux with fish and chips. However, not drinking with dinner would have sounded major, major alarm bells for him as it would have been my birthday dinner and at least 10 days since I’d drunk, therefore so not like me. I gave in to some white wine (OK, not some, the bloody bottle...)
b) Sunday, the eve of my birthday, was slightly fraught and emotional as I didn’t get a card from my parents. Yes, alcohol is not a crutch for every emotional crisis but I like to think that something so major and so soon into the challenge could be forgiven.
I’ve been torturing myself ever since about what to write. Should I lie? Nope, never. Am just not capable as it goes against my ethics. Do I fess up and call it a blip? Nope as I see that as weak-willed and a failure. So I am telling the truth and proffering another suggestion.
Rather than count from 16 April (K’s anniversary) I shall now start the dry count from 26 April (my birthday). That way K’s anniversary remains his and his alone and my birthday becomes a landmark date. Not what I had in mind at the outset but the best outcome in my eyes for a failed attempt.
Don’t get me wrong, I am gutted at the false start but, on the other hand, can not beat myself up over it forever. I would rather draw a line and move on, spurred on by the failure of my parents to acknowledge the day that their daughter was born. If I can achieve this it will be proof that I am not the weak-willed waste of space that they have written me off as.
As for the weekend itself, twas lovely. Spent a lot of it in bed as we know Rye very well and it’s more of a rest and relaxation than a massive tourist trip, but we both came away feeling a darn sight better than when we arrived. The weather was fabulous – truly lovely sunshine and not too hot. The people who have the B&B where we stay are just fab and we have our own front door to the room. It’s like our own, personal retreat and we’ve booked to go again in early June, which can’t come soon enough.
Tis rainy, grey and miserable today, so not in mood to write any more. Day one. Again.
Thursday, 23 April 2009
Social exclusion zone
I am due to go out tonight with a very good and long-standing (won't say old as that could be misinterpreted!) friend. Normally we would meet for a few glasses, end up getting a bottle (it's easier and less hassle queueing at the bar - yeah, right) and then maybe, if we were particularly well-refreshed, another. A pack of Marlboro Lights would appear at some point after a furtive trip to the nearest shop, which we'd proceed to chug our way through like they were going out of fashion and we'd both spend our train journey's home like startled rabbits doing anything to avoid falling asleep and missing our stop.
No more, well for me at least! However, my friend should feel no shame in imbibing but it always seems such a stark contrast when you are sat in a bar ordering a vino and a soft drink and then self-consciously sticking to the water whilst she may feel weird about having a second glass. Have never really managed to master this one as I have previously been the uncomfortable one when out with K as I have fancied another one but am aware that I will be getting inebriated as he remains sober. What to do?
Well, dining seems the clever solution. I have so often forgone this part in the past, being far too keen to get 'the swally doon yoor neck' as my Scots family would put it, yet meeting for a bite to eat is in fact a far more sensible and grown up option. This way too, my lack of drinking is much less of an issue and the whole evening takes on a more civilised stance. I suppose it's a small issue when you consider all the benefits of not drinking, but I have no desire to commit social suicide in the process. That said, the most common responses to 'I've given up the booze' are:
'How long for?' - meaning how long before I can see you again and not have to suffer with a sober person;
'Really, why?' - meaning how can your life possibly have any meaning without the booze soaking every bit of it;
'Oh my God, you're not going tee-total on me are you?' - meaning convert to Islam, murder your mother, whatever you fancy but don't, for fucks sake, stop drinking.
So rather than draw attention to my pledge and turn myself into a paragon of virtue such that my friends would rather spend an evening poking themselves in the eye than with me, I am attempting to make social situations fit me. Sure, there will be events where the lack of booze on my part may prove a killjoy, but for now, the best way to get through this is to forge my own path and adapt what ones I can to suit a sober me.
No more, well for me at least! However, my friend should feel no shame in imbibing but it always seems such a stark contrast when you are sat in a bar ordering a vino and a soft drink and then self-consciously sticking to the water whilst she may feel weird about having a second glass. Have never really managed to master this one as I have previously been the uncomfortable one when out with K as I have fancied another one but am aware that I will be getting inebriated as he remains sober. What to do?
Well, dining seems the clever solution. I have so often forgone this part in the past, being far too keen to get 'the swally doon yoor neck' as my Scots family would put it, yet meeting for a bite to eat is in fact a far more sensible and grown up option. This way too, my lack of drinking is much less of an issue and the whole evening takes on a more civilised stance. I suppose it's a small issue when you consider all the benefits of not drinking, but I have no desire to commit social suicide in the process. That said, the most common responses to 'I've given up the booze' are:
'How long for?' - meaning how long before I can see you again and not have to suffer with a sober person;
'Really, why?' - meaning how can your life possibly have any meaning without the booze soaking every bit of it;
'Oh my God, you're not going tee-total on me are you?' - meaning convert to Islam, murder your mother, whatever you fancy but don't, for fucks sake, stop drinking.
So rather than draw attention to my pledge and turn myself into a paragon of virtue such that my friends would rather spend an evening poking themselves in the eye than with me, I am attempting to make social situations fit me. Sure, there will be events where the lack of booze on my part may prove a killjoy, but for now, the best way to get through this is to forge my own path and adapt what ones I can to suit a sober me.
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Mid week blues
It's Wednesday. Feels like Monday to be frank, as the 5 day week after a 4 day one is always interminable. The sun is shining and the birds are singing but...I just can't seem to get this nagging feeling out of my head that things are sort of, odd.
It's my 35th birthday on Sunday. K and I are off to Rye for a long weekend and I am sure, especially if the weather holds that it will be lovely. But there is a cloud over the whole thing as this is the first birthday I shall have without my family. They stopped speaking to me last year as they disapprove of K - above all his recovering alcoholic status offends them but other than that, the fact that he is 42, unmarried (i.e. never been married before which makes him 'weird' in their eyes) and has battled a serious illness, all contribute to their decision to ask me to choose between them and him.
I put my foot down as this is not the first boyfriend they have disapproved of and I had had enough of my life being dictated by others. The last 12 months have therefore been up and down emotionally. Some staggering lows compensated by some poignant highs, but traumatic all the same. As a result, I still don't know if I will get a birthday card from my parents or brother (who has come out in their defence without even discussing the situation with me).
I suppose I have reached that point in life when bumbling along regardless is no longer an option. I may have chosen not to go the 'high-flying corporate career' or 'yummy (ha ha) mummy' route and have ploughed my own furrow of benevolence and hedonism in equal measure! But now that I am betrothed and the future has to take some sort of shape, I am finding it a challenge to face up to all that it entails. I know that K and I need to be singing from the same song sheet or the long-term future is in question, but what sheet might that be? Whatever one we both think it is, it's certainly working right now. That said, I haven't yet figured out where it is taking us. We are both on a journey and the next few months, leading up to the wedding, will help us confirm that it's ours, unique and one that we share completely. We just need to give it some definition!!!!
I read a really thoughtful email from my friend Simon today, a career consultant, on the subject of meaningfulness. It pretty much summed up where my head was currently at. In the absence of wine (7 days and counting!) my thoughts have become much more omnipresent and powerful, as the sedative effect of being regularly sozzled since teenage slowly wears off. Even though I have abstained before, for up to 3 months in one case, I have always done it for physical rather than mental health issues. This time the issue I am addressing is my mindset and it's quite a scary path to embark upon. As Simon put it, with this quote from George Bernard Shaw:
"The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man."
It's my 35th birthday on Sunday. K and I are off to Rye for a long weekend and I am sure, especially if the weather holds that it will be lovely. But there is a cloud over the whole thing as this is the first birthday I shall have without my family. They stopped speaking to me last year as they disapprove of K - above all his recovering alcoholic status offends them but other than that, the fact that he is 42, unmarried (i.e. never been married before which makes him 'weird' in their eyes) and has battled a serious illness, all contribute to their decision to ask me to choose between them and him.
I put my foot down as this is not the first boyfriend they have disapproved of and I had had enough of my life being dictated by others. The last 12 months have therefore been up and down emotionally. Some staggering lows compensated by some poignant highs, but traumatic all the same. As a result, I still don't know if I will get a birthday card from my parents or brother (who has come out in their defence without even discussing the situation with me).
I suppose I have reached that point in life when bumbling along regardless is no longer an option. I may have chosen not to go the 'high-flying corporate career' or 'yummy (ha ha) mummy' route and have ploughed my own furrow of benevolence and hedonism in equal measure! But now that I am betrothed and the future has to take some sort of shape, I am finding it a challenge to face up to all that it entails. I know that K and I need to be singing from the same song sheet or the long-term future is in question, but what sheet might that be? Whatever one we both think it is, it's certainly working right now. That said, I haven't yet figured out where it is taking us. We are both on a journey and the next few months, leading up to the wedding, will help us confirm that it's ours, unique and one that we share completely. We just need to give it some definition!!!!
I read a really thoughtful email from my friend Simon today, a career consultant, on the subject of meaningfulness. It pretty much summed up where my head was currently at. In the absence of wine (7 days and counting!) my thoughts have become much more omnipresent and powerful, as the sedative effect of being regularly sozzled since teenage slowly wears off. Even though I have abstained before, for up to 3 months in one case, I have always done it for physical rather than mental health issues. This time the issue I am addressing is my mindset and it's quite a scary path to embark upon. As Simon put it, with this quote from George Bernard Shaw:
"The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man."
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Wake up and smell the...roses
My senses are coming back. It's a small thing, really but tastes and even texture are all the more clear now that I am not drinking and, as a result, not smoking. I was a classic 'social smoker' and a relatively late starter in fact. I began when I was about 22 and living in France, having been utterly uninterested in the habit before that. At first I was very light and remember having one fag a day at 1.30 to break up my revising during my finals, and being quite happy to stick to one. Boyfriends subsequently influenced the amount that I smoked and I have been on and off the fags ever since, depending on who I was seeing. Lately I found the wine/cigarette association had become very strong and knew the only way to break the nicotine fix was to end the drinking. I never crave cigarettes sober, so am sure that if nothing else comes of my abstinence, it will at least help me break this highly unpleasant habit.
I spent time with my acupuncturist last night discussing my 'gluttony gene' as I like to call it. I have become all the more aware of late that I can not do things in moderation. Everything I see I size up in terms of is it 'the largest, most satisifying, most indulgent'; be it a bottle of wine or a piece of cake. I bolt my food and glug my vino like it's going out of fashion and have a fear of finishing something and remaining unsated. It's quite revelatory when you start to consider how this affects your life and what you can do about it. I am now pondering this as a hurdle to overcome as part of my abstinence. Not only do I need to give up drink for a period of time but, if I do drink again, I have to understand the principles of enough. Boy do I still have a long, long way to travel on that path!!
Anyway, all the same, am happy. Very. Came home to a surprise bunch of flowers from K. Nothing makes me warm inside quite like some flowers for no other reason than being me, so he said. Love him.
I spent time with my acupuncturist last night discussing my 'gluttony gene' as I like to call it. I have become all the more aware of late that I can not do things in moderation. Everything I see I size up in terms of is it 'the largest, most satisifying, most indulgent'; be it a bottle of wine or a piece of cake. I bolt my food and glug my vino like it's going out of fashion and have a fear of finishing something and remaining unsated. It's quite revelatory when you start to consider how this affects your life and what you can do about it. I am now pondering this as a hurdle to overcome as part of my abstinence. Not only do I need to give up drink for a period of time but, if I do drink again, I have to understand the principles of enough. Boy do I still have a long, long way to travel on that path!!
Anyway, all the same, am happy. Very. Came home to a surprise bunch of flowers from K. Nothing makes me warm inside quite like some flowers for no other reason than being me, so he said. Love him.
Monday, 20 April 2009
The first hurdle
This weekend turned out to be a very special and poignant one. It actually felt like a 'first date' getting all poshed up and heading up town for lunch at The Ritz. I was concerned that the pressure of getting suited and booted and sitting in a stiff dining room would be too much for K, given the momentous nature of that week's anniversary, but he thoroughly enjoyed himself and spent far, far longer getting ready to go than I did!!!
We spent £11.50 (plus tip) on 2 bottles of Perrier as the set menu lunch was a Christmas gift from his sister and brother-in-law, and I have to say that the food was, without exception, excellent. A real treat and I appreciated every morsel. Would the addition of wine have enhanced it at all? I'd probably go as far as to say it was better without, which surprises me. Every taste is defined and identifiable and the experience is still 'crystal clear' in my mind afterwards, something I can rest assured has not always been the case. I have always been a light-weight at lunchtime drinking anyway, so the desire to have wine was definitely suppressed by my last experience. That occasion saw me waking in Dartford after midnight and resulted in a very expensive taxi home and a scarred knee that remains unsightly...
The afternoon was spent wandering through Soho and browsing at books, clothes etc. A perfect and yet rather simple day - nice lunch, window shopping and home for a quiet eve on the sofa.
On Sunday we were up bright and early to head to Reigate and visit K's family. Again, we had a truly lovely day - lunch with his sister and brother-in-law, followed by a trip to the park with my gorgeous wee nephews. K became suspicious of my non-drinking at lunchtime, as I didn't have a glass at his sister's house. I have no intention of sharing my decision until I am ready. There is nothing to be gained from setting myself up for failure and in any way alerting him to the challenge as there is nothing K loves more than proving he can undermine resolve!
It's not in any way malicious or specific to me, but we have 'been here before' and the moment I suggest that I don't/won't do something, he will go out of his way to prove otherwise. It can be as anodyne as saying I don't have a sweet tooth, and you can guarantee that the next day he will come home with my favourite ever dessert, which I would have quite happily lived without were it not now staring at me from the fridge :-)
So on Sunday eve he asked if I wanted some wine from the shop on the way home, which I naturally refused. This alarmed him and made him probe deeper as to why I wasn't drinking. He was worried that something was wrong when, in fact, it was the total opposite. I fobbed him off (yeah, right - he's not that stupid) and left it hanging in the air, so to speak.
So here's where we are at on Monday. I have been off the plonk for 6 days now and so far, so good. I have acupuncture this evening which should help greatly with my resolve and if nothing else, will give me 20 minutes to lie back and reflect on the decisions I have taken.
We spent £11.50 (plus tip) on 2 bottles of Perrier as the set menu lunch was a Christmas gift from his sister and brother-in-law, and I have to say that the food was, without exception, excellent. A real treat and I appreciated every morsel. Would the addition of wine have enhanced it at all? I'd probably go as far as to say it was better without, which surprises me. Every taste is defined and identifiable and the experience is still 'crystal clear' in my mind afterwards, something I can rest assured has not always been the case. I have always been a light-weight at lunchtime drinking anyway, so the desire to have wine was definitely suppressed by my last experience. That occasion saw me waking in Dartford after midnight and resulted in a very expensive taxi home and a scarred knee that remains unsightly...
The afternoon was spent wandering through Soho and browsing at books, clothes etc. A perfect and yet rather simple day - nice lunch, window shopping and home for a quiet eve on the sofa.
On Sunday we were up bright and early to head to Reigate and visit K's family. Again, we had a truly lovely day - lunch with his sister and brother-in-law, followed by a trip to the park with my gorgeous wee nephews. K became suspicious of my non-drinking at lunchtime, as I didn't have a glass at his sister's house. I have no intention of sharing my decision until I am ready. There is nothing to be gained from setting myself up for failure and in any way alerting him to the challenge as there is nothing K loves more than proving he can undermine resolve!
It's not in any way malicious or specific to me, but we have 'been here before' and the moment I suggest that I don't/won't do something, he will go out of his way to prove otherwise. It can be as anodyne as saying I don't have a sweet tooth, and you can guarantee that the next day he will come home with my favourite ever dessert, which I would have quite happily lived without were it not now staring at me from the fridge :-)
So on Sunday eve he asked if I wanted some wine from the shop on the way home, which I naturally refused. This alarmed him and made him probe deeper as to why I wasn't drinking. He was worried that something was wrong when, in fact, it was the total opposite. I fobbed him off (yeah, right - he's not that stupid) and left it hanging in the air, so to speak.
So here's where we are at on Monday. I have been off the plonk for 6 days now and so far, so good. I have acupuncture this evening which should help greatly with my resolve and if nothing else, will give me 20 minutes to lie back and reflect on the decisions I have taken.
Friday, 17 April 2009
La vie en rose
We went for dinner yesterday evening at our local Thai, to celebrate the anniversary in a low-key way. Tomorrow we are off to the Ritz for the real treat, but it was nice to do something on the day all the same. I told K how proud I was of him and I know that this meant a lot. He gets up every day and does the same thing week in week out, so to tell him once a year that I respect and admire him for his willpower, strength, courage and commitment is no big deal.
I didn't drink (naturally, some would say as I made my pledge just yesterday!!) which was slightly odd though no hardship, as I always have a glass of rose when I go there, whilst K has the ubiquitous sparkling water (on which we spend about £30 a week between us!!).
One thing I have come to realise about my wine consumption is the amount I have drunk in the past that I have barely enjoyed. No offence to the innocent restaurant, but it is very ordinary 'table wine' that is rarely chilled and usually from a bottle uncorked many days ago! The pleasure of drinking this is clearly negligible, were it not for the alcoholic haze that it helps induce.
It has really made me think about the amount of alcohol that I must have consumed over the years with scant regard for the taste or quality. From a warm G&T in a pub with colleagues on a crowded Friday eve, to some really rough red wine at the end of the evening when the 'good stuff' has run out, I am quite appalled at the thought of what has passed my lips in the name of drinking.
It's obviously not the first time that I've had this thought. It's a common theme when one wakes up on a weekend with a mouth like a badger's arse and a very sore head, with hazy recollections of the previous night out. But being aware and actually doing something about it are not necessarily linked. Usually there has been another good excuse to drink coming up that very evening (hair of the dog anyone?) and saying no is often futile. It's like climbing on a really scary roller coaster that doesn't ever stop - the highs outweigh the stomach-clenching lows and you grin and bear your way through the first one before starting to enjoy the next few glasses. Question is, why go through such pain for some fleeting pleasure which frequently leaves you out of your comfort zone or even out of control? Sobering thoughts.
I didn't drink (naturally, some would say as I made my pledge just yesterday!!) which was slightly odd though no hardship, as I always have a glass of rose when I go there, whilst K has the ubiquitous sparkling water (on which we spend about £30 a week between us!!).
One thing I have come to realise about my wine consumption is the amount I have drunk in the past that I have barely enjoyed. No offence to the innocent restaurant, but it is very ordinary 'table wine' that is rarely chilled and usually from a bottle uncorked many days ago! The pleasure of drinking this is clearly negligible, were it not for the alcoholic haze that it helps induce.
It has really made me think about the amount of alcohol that I must have consumed over the years with scant regard for the taste or quality. From a warm G&T in a pub with colleagues on a crowded Friday eve, to some really rough red wine at the end of the evening when the 'good stuff' has run out, I am quite appalled at the thought of what has passed my lips in the name of drinking.
It's obviously not the first time that I've had this thought. It's a common theme when one wakes up on a weekend with a mouth like a badger's arse and a very sore head, with hazy recollections of the previous night out. But being aware and actually doing something about it are not necessarily linked. Usually there has been another good excuse to drink coming up that very evening (hair of the dog anyone?) and saying no is often futile. It's like climbing on a really scary roller coaster that doesn't ever stop - the highs outweigh the stomach-clenching lows and you grin and bear your way through the first one before starting to enjoy the next few glasses. Question is, why go through such pain for some fleeting pleasure which frequently leaves you out of your comfort zone or even out of control? Sobering thoughts.
Thursday, 16 April 2009
The turning tide
Today is my fiance's anniversary. He's been sober for exactly 5 years on 16 April 2009, continuously and completely so.
I met him in August 2007, via the wonders of The Guardian's Soulmates site, and we have been together (albeit with the odd separation) ever since.
The only K (his pseudonym for the purposes of my blog) I know is this one. I never knew the one that preceded his final stint in rehab. I know a lot about the man he was before becoming the one I now live with, as K is frank, honest and open about everything that went before. There are no secrets and no holds barred between us.
As such, I know that he is a very different person, albeit shaped not just by continuous sobriety but also a serious illness which temporarily robbed him of his sight, to the one who consumed gargantuan amounts of alcohol on a daily basis.
Today I feel an immense amount of pride in him. I had underestimated just how much his strength and purpose meant to me, as staying dry is his promise not just to me, but his family and friends. His pledge not to drink is one of the greatest gifts he can offer us all and as he spends today thanking AA and his higher power, I am thanking fate for having brought us together as I am sharing in his accomplishment.
We've been through some pretty tough times, the last 18 months or so, and whilst it won't be stress-free henceforth, we are experiencing a relative period of calm and peace right now. Things are coming together and looking positive and, when the going gets tough again, I can fall back on the knowledge that we have our wedding this December to truly look forward to.
As such, I want to make a promise to myself. I want to spend a year in his shoes, in as best a manner as I can muster. I couldn't even contemplate experiencing what he went through when he dried out, as my drinking is far away from alcoholism and does not (yet) constitute a health hazard. It is, however, not in the happy zone. I can sink a bottle of wine without it even touching the sides, and still remain upright and fairly presentable. To say that it has worried me for a long while would be the truth of the matter and meeting K has meant addressing my fears for the first time in my life.
Surrounded by big drinkers, many friends and family who wouldn't even contemplate an alcohol-free event, I have become like so many others; a drinker by proxy. Things are all enhanced by the addition of vino - a trip to the pub, a good meal, a shit piece of news, Friday night telly, Saturday night pre-party, Sunday relaxing before back to work - you name it, the reason (nay excuse) is always there.
If I can spend 12 months learning about willpower, deprivation, courage, strength and purpose, then it can only serve to enhance me rather than be in any way to my detriment. My health, weight and mood should all improve and any ensuant soul-searching can be no bad thing.
Day one.
I met him in August 2007, via the wonders of The Guardian's Soulmates site, and we have been together (albeit with the odd separation) ever since.
The only K (his pseudonym for the purposes of my blog) I know is this one. I never knew the one that preceded his final stint in rehab. I know a lot about the man he was before becoming the one I now live with, as K is frank, honest and open about everything that went before. There are no secrets and no holds barred between us.
As such, I know that he is a very different person, albeit shaped not just by continuous sobriety but also a serious illness which temporarily robbed him of his sight, to the one who consumed gargantuan amounts of alcohol on a daily basis.
Today I feel an immense amount of pride in him. I had underestimated just how much his strength and purpose meant to me, as staying dry is his promise not just to me, but his family and friends. His pledge not to drink is one of the greatest gifts he can offer us all and as he spends today thanking AA and his higher power, I am thanking fate for having brought us together as I am sharing in his accomplishment.
We've been through some pretty tough times, the last 18 months or so, and whilst it won't be stress-free henceforth, we are experiencing a relative period of calm and peace right now. Things are coming together and looking positive and, when the going gets tough again, I can fall back on the knowledge that we have our wedding this December to truly look forward to.
As such, I want to make a promise to myself. I want to spend a year in his shoes, in as best a manner as I can muster. I couldn't even contemplate experiencing what he went through when he dried out, as my drinking is far away from alcoholism and does not (yet) constitute a health hazard. It is, however, not in the happy zone. I can sink a bottle of wine without it even touching the sides, and still remain upright and fairly presentable. To say that it has worried me for a long while would be the truth of the matter and meeting K has meant addressing my fears for the first time in my life.
Surrounded by big drinkers, many friends and family who wouldn't even contemplate an alcohol-free event, I have become like so many others; a drinker by proxy. Things are all enhanced by the addition of vino - a trip to the pub, a good meal, a shit piece of news, Friday night telly, Saturday night pre-party, Sunday relaxing before back to work - you name it, the reason (nay excuse) is always there.
If I can spend 12 months learning about willpower, deprivation, courage, strength and purpose, then it can only serve to enhance me rather than be in any way to my detriment. My health, weight and mood should all improve and any ensuant soul-searching can be no bad thing.
Day one.
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