Talkin' Shit About A Pretty Sunset

I'm no stranger to a little hooch now and again ... and again and again, but last Sunday, the shit caught up with me. Or should I say, "came up outta me"---out of me, and all over the hotel room and my lovely wife's unpacked clothes. At first I blamed that simply-labeled bottle whose only design was three letters: G-I-N. But as sobriety set in I had only myself to blame.

That behavior got me banned from the sauce: I've gone cold turkey. I can honestly say that these seven days are the longest I've gone without alcohol in several years. On days three and four, there was some anxiety and I felt like the Burt Bacharach song, "I just don't know what to do with myself". But as the days moved on, I felt my mind becoming clearer, my thoughts sharper and my sleep sounder. Saturday and Sunday mornings were really strange because I actually woke up feeling good. The fact that I was surprised because I felt good on a weekend morning is very illuminating. How bad had it gotten that I was shocked at feeling normal? Bad. Pretty bad.

It's not to say I'll never drink again, but it's about time for a break.