I haven’t written about this yet for a couple of reasons. First, I wanted to make sure that I didn’t put any artificial time limits on myself — I didn’t want to declare that I was taking a 30/60/90 day break from booze. Secondly, I wanted to see how this worked out. Finally, I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame. I’ve learned that I don’t have to be ashamed because I’m taking positive action to make my life better.
I’d been suffering for a long, long time and I secretly knew it was time for a change, but I couldn’t bring myself to make the change. On September 21 of this year, I woke up full of regret. The night before, I’d had several glasses of bourbon, several beers and half a bottle of wine. I didn’t count my drinks anymore, but I knew it was a lot. The recycling told the story. I was fuzzy on the details of the night before, but I knew we’d had some family over for dinner that I’d cooked and I was reasonably sure that we’d had a good time, that I hadn’t been an overt ass or hurt anyone, and I didn’t burn dinner. I may have served steak that was so rare it was blue in the middle though.
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