I really should go exercise…

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This is probably the honeymoon phase of blogging. I have started blog projects in the past but have lost track of them largely because A) I was too busy getting hammered and B) when you are drunk all the time it is really hard to remember passwords and usernames. 

I am feeling pretty good about seven days but am trying to prepare myself for the challenging week ahead. It is the 4th of July here in my little western town, which means the entire (or so it seems) city is hammered from sun up to sundown. They even waive the open container laws and turn a blind eye to non-blatant drunk driving. This has always been a epic drinking day for me and my also newly sober sweetie. I know we can make it, but I can’t deny it will be challenging. 

So on to a different topic, withdrawal. Withdrawal sucks money balls. The first time I went through withdrawal was earlier this spring when I stopped drinking for 9 whole days. I wasn’t ready to admit that my drinking was abnormal (ha!) or boarding on suicidal at that point, so back on the sauce I went. That withdrawal (which was truly terrible) was a minor inconvenience compared to what I went through last week. I still have a little bit of a headache and sleep is definitely more illusive than I would like but last week I felt like the bottom of my skull was being held captive in some horrible vice (ala some 1990 mob movie). I was itchy, angry, irrational and unable to sleep. I went to get my brows done and my hairdresser, a very well meaning person with whom I have always shared tales of epic drinking, pointed out that I was, “a little jumpy.” She recommended a G & T on the P-A-T-I-O (she was spelling it out for the benefit of my 4 year-old daughter who was fluttering around the studio. I really, no joke, could have punched her right in her cute little pierced nose. I haven’t punched anyone since I was 17 and smoked marijuana laced with PCP. Thankfully, my better angels prevailed and I did not punch my longtime hair dresser. She would feel just awful if she knew what I was going through. Plus there are very few hairdressers in my little town who know how to do anything other than Texas style rodeo hair. It would have been a multi-faceted tragedy


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