...though I am so anxious about tomorrow's election that I don't know what to do!!
BTW, free Starbucks on election day, heads up...
On the advice of my new CMC doc, I'm "sobriety sampling" this week. I promised to try and do three drinks per day. I'll actually be happy with six. Gotta start somewhere. But, in an effort to do due diligence, I've switched to wine, so I can indulge my oral fixation for longer periods of time and not feel like I'm depriving myself.
I've been secretly obsessing over the nice man I met last weekend in Chahlston, and thinking that I really should marry an older man, and possibly even someone who lives all the way across the country. That would get rid of so many Y-chromosome-related challenges in my life, at least for the moment. I've never dated someone significantly older than me and I think the stability would be such a good thing for me. Maybe he would find my fear and loathing somehow charming. Or he would just put up with it because I'm twenty years younger than him.
So I haven't called Joe in two weeks, since that night I called him up and he came over to calm me down. He very sweetly offered to make me dinner when I got back, but I have been in such a wretched mood that the only people I can bear to speak to, much less be around, are people whom I've known for at least three years. He called me tonight and something tells me I'm not going to call him back. Suddenly all I can think is, "What the fuck would I say?" This is the problem when I ease off the drink. My body has some kind of liquid quota, and it just fills in the gaps with piss and vinegar.
But I'm trying. I have to keep telling myself that it's just like quitting smoking, that the moodiness will pass. I just wish it was May and not November, and that I was pulling out my sandals and pretty dresses and not putting them away. I have *such* a hard time with the cold.
Anyhow, Big Brother thinks I should stop hanging out with everyone I know who tolerates my misbehavior. Hence my third night at home in a row, though to be fair we did cook a massive dinner last night, and Saturday night Entourage kept me company. Trimming the fat to me means Joe, even though he has expressed interest in going sober with me. I guess I just don't believe him. John said the same thing about the coke, but that lasted all of one day. I guess more than belief in someone, I just don't think that anyone can take care of me except for me. That's not being cynical, I don't think, just realistic.
I just don't want sobriety to be lonely. But today Doc hit a nerve when he got me to reveal just how insecure I am when I am sober, how I allow my thoughts to torture me, how at times I feel like it's about to happen...that the destructo part of my psyche will finally win this war of attrition, and I will just SNAP violently or silently disintegrate...and that it will surprise people even more than it surprises me, because lately it's been harder and harder to engage in self-deception.
This blog is really on its way out. I feel like it's started to replace real human interactions. I assume that the ten or so of you read it and that I don't have to explain myself to you anymore, and I think this is a bad thing.
November be damned. We will win, I will win, we will get through this.