Ahhhh, alcohol.
This morning, I woke up dying. Except that it wasn't this morning, it was this afternoon. And I wasn't dying, just severely dehydrated.
For the last eight or nine years, drinks and cigarettes have filled my weekends. There was also the bit around my 21st year where it filled the weeks. Every time I partook, I'd wake up sick, unable to wake up past 3:00pm and wonder why I even did that. Drinking and being drunk has lost its novelty. I don't have fun when I'm drunk. I say stupid things, I annoy myself and am convinced that I'm annoying others, I fall asleep and wake up queasy, to say the least. I'm at a loss for why I should continue this. One of the pros of being with Sean and was that I am willing to forego a night of drinking in exchange for a night of driving. And because of that, when I did get a night of drinking in, I had a few, left only slightly tipsy and woke up as fresh as a daisy. Since moving into our new apartment, we have friends within walking distance, so drinking has been up. For two weekends in a row, at least one night resulted in me being drunk. I've woken up wishing, in the words of Bukowski, that I could comb that face. This morning for instance, I woke up at noon only because, in a bizarre twist of fate, an alarm went off. I had a centralized headache and last night's romantic dinner was rising up in my throat. I felt like I had eaten a cigarette (or 25) and while I wiped yesterday's eyeliner from my eyes, I was bewildered as to why I had even started. Then the toilet overflowed and I locked myself out while Sean was at the hardware store buying a plunger. Standing in the cold, I vowed that this was going to stop. I failed to see the fun in drinking until the room started to spin and then waking up feeling like I had fallen down the stairs to the Art Museum.
I'm not judging people who drink. I'm simply saying its not so much for me anymore. Maybe I've grown boring with the undertaking of the responsibility of renting my own home, but so be it. Yesterday I also came to the realization that smoking has killed a majority of my family and I am just plain idiotic for continuing with it. There can be no smoking-quitting-aid. I have to do this cold turkey. And I really believe that I can. There will be no morning trip to Wawa tomorrow. I am done.
I'm assured that I will still have my vices. Coffee. Insane organization. Chocolate fudge cake. I'm just done with the ones that make me feel shitty. Sean is behind me, my friends will be glad, I'm sure. I'm confident in my conclusions and decisions. Oh, I'm sure I'll still drink. Just rarely to the point of no return and not nearly as often.
Oh, dear.
For the last eight or nine years, drinks and cigarettes have filled my weekends. There was also the bit around my 21st year where it filled the weeks. Every time I partook, I'd wake up sick, unable to wake up past 3:00pm and wonder why I even did that. Drinking and being drunk has lost its novelty. I don't have fun when I'm drunk. I say stupid things, I annoy myself and am convinced that I'm annoying others, I fall asleep and wake up queasy, to say the least. I'm at a loss for why I should continue this. One of the pros of being with Sean and was that I am willing to forego a night of drinking in exchange for a night of driving. And because of that, when I did get a night of drinking in, I had a few, left only slightly tipsy and woke up as fresh as a daisy. Since moving into our new apartment, we have friends within walking distance, so drinking has been up. For two weekends in a row, at least one night resulted in me being drunk. I've woken up wishing, in the words of Bukowski, that I could comb that face. This morning for instance, I woke up at noon only because, in a bizarre twist of fate, an alarm went off. I had a centralized headache and last night's romantic dinner was rising up in my throat. I felt like I had eaten a cigarette (or 25) and while I wiped yesterday's eyeliner from my eyes, I was bewildered as to why I had even started. Then the toilet overflowed and I locked myself out while Sean was at the hardware store buying a plunger. Standing in the cold, I vowed that this was going to stop. I failed to see the fun in drinking until the room started to spin and then waking up feeling like I had fallen down the stairs to the Art Museum.
I'm not judging people who drink. I'm simply saying its not so much for me anymore. Maybe I've grown boring with the undertaking of the responsibility of renting my own home, but so be it. Yesterday I also came to the realization that smoking has killed a majority of my family and I am just plain idiotic for continuing with it. There can be no smoking-quitting-aid. I have to do this cold turkey. And I really believe that I can. There will be no morning trip to Wawa tomorrow. I am done.
I'm assured that I will still have my vices. Coffee. Insane organization. Chocolate fudge cake. I'm just done with the ones that make me feel shitty. Sean is behind me, my friends will be glad, I'm sure. I'm confident in my conclusions and decisions. Oh, I'm sure I'll still drink. Just rarely to the point of no return and not nearly as often.
Oh, dear.