What's the Point
One of the strangest (for want of a better word) sensations during lockdown, for me, was the depressing feeling that there didn't seem to be much point to anything. Equally shite (for want of a better word) was the depressing growth in numbers of dead and infected people.
I've read a lot of posts from the One Year No Beer Facebook group and all of them refer to alcohol in a damning manner. I be like - you fucking twats! There's nothing wrong with alcohol; people are the problem and their inability to control themselves. It's like blaming the Cocaine on your paranoia. Ridiculous. I stopped reading the mind-numbing, look at me, my marriage is great, again, and I remember all my childrens' names because each one I read made me feel like going to the fridge for one of my favourite ice cold craft beers.
My current journey of one hundred days of sobriety has reached its seventh day. Would I like to get drunk tonight? Fuck, yes, a big yes, but this sojourn in sobriety is about self discipline and, believe it or not, sweet fuck all to do with alcohol. I love alcohol. Would I like to get drunk tonight? Fuck, no, a big no. It's been a week since I woke with my body dealing with the after effects of alcohol and that is one feeling I detest and do not miss. Oh no, I'm beginning to sound like a O.Y.N.B. boring, self- righteous spanner.
This is an outdoor blog. This is what I'm looking at:
It's not as dull as it looks.
The same cannot be said for Day - 7. Only 93 days to go.