How to be Sick

 

Does it seem like I'm always at the doctor? Here's another selfie, this one from urgent care on Monday when I had what felt like strep throat. My hair looks lovely but I feel like total shit. 

I felt pretty worn out on Sunday, I took an at home Covid test and it was negative so I kept the walking date I had that morning. By Sunday afternoon I felt exhausted, heavy. Rest I thought. I just need a good night's sleep. 

I woke up Monday morning and it was clear I was sick. I had several things to do on Monday- clients, a meeting for a class I'm taking, and not just clients, one of the appointments a brand new client who was considering working with me. OH NO I thought. How can I make all these things happen? How can I just get through it?

Then, the sweet moment of realization that I did not have to make anything happen. I was sick. It is normal to be sick. It is normal to cancel everything when you are sick. Relief, then dread, thick dread. It felt wrong, and weird to think that way. What would my clients think? What about the brand new person? What a terrible impression to have to reschedule our first meeting. What about my classmates? They'll think I don't care. 

I had the out of body experience I have when I understand that my training is at work and I am living in my habit instead of being in the moment. I become two people: the old me, the one who thinks people judge you for canceling and it destroys your credibility and I am not really that sick, I am just lazy and dumb and careless. Ouch. Then the this me, the 50 year old who has been in recovery for almost 10 years and therapy for 7 years and working so hard to know what's real me gently comes in. She knows not to rush, or be loud. She mothers me, tenderly. This me knows what's real. 

I have to break it down into the most basic of basics in actual conversation with myself because I am still young in my practice of this kind of knowing about things. Wait Amy, 50 year old me says, without force or agenda. You are sick. You can feel it. You know what you're talking about. What would you tell someone else or your clients? Tell yourself that too. Now, what would you say? 

I answer myself, shyly. I would say if you're sick you take care of yourself. That being sick is not a character failing, but something that happens to everyone. That people are understanding. That if they aren't understanding those aren't your people. That to be in my integrity I cancel everything. I go to the doctor to make sure I don't have strep. And then I go to bed until I'm well. Old me and 50 year old me look each other in the eye. Together we open my email, we text clients to reschedule. No one is mad, or disappointed- they know who I am. We make the doctor appointment. Together. 

Often I am so angry at the part of me that kept me drinking and numb for so long. The part that made me work when I was actually sick, that never let me see how bad things were. TWENTY SEVEN YEARS!!! I want to scream at that part, over and over. I want to be so angry at it, to burn it down, to shame it and hurt it and reject it and ask it how on earth could you be so fucking foolish while I'm standing there close in so it can see the anguish of what it's done. 

It knows. She knows. I know. 

I am to the point where I am starting to feel my feelings and recognize my true feeling. I don't know how to say it better than plain like that. When you master numbing out for the majority of your life there are fathoms and trenches to tirelessly swim through before you feel the tiny jolt of aliveness that matches what you're truly actually really feeling. Oh, I will think. I FEEL MAD. Oh. 

It seems like such a simple thing: to be sick. And then to take the normal steps that you take when you are sick, that are new steps to me. What a glorious moment! To recognize myself and to openly care for myself in front of people. It feels monumental. 

Permeability

 

Permeability

Out on a run/walk/wander I remembered what I thought on a recent early morning: I am separate from other people. It really struck me that what I feel, think, decide, am... it's all mine. And that other people's those things are all theirs. Like I am a cloud, and you are a cloud, and we are each our own weather systems that can also create weather together. 

I spend a lot of time thinking about humans- how we behave, our histories, our family histories, our behavioral legacies, our training, choices, conditioning, changing, stagnating- it's all fascinating to me. I think about myself and how I got sober and what it took to get there. 

What it was like to live the life I lived before I quit drinking. 

What it was like to live that life. 

What it's like to live this life. 

The things I have learned and how much I still have to go. I remember being out on a run in the beginning of my recovery and thinking "What if I never finish?" and starting to cry because then I thought with relief and joy "I will never finish!!!" 

I realize periodically that something I do unconsciously pretty often is: I try to not make any mistakes by being me the individual. I really guard myself closely, collecting myself, looking for loose threads or flyaways of self. Oh this? That's nothing! And I scoot that part of me you might have seen under the rug. It's weird for someone who is like me- I am open to talking about your behaviors or your life so I seem like I am open and revealing, but just try asking me about myself and I will probably clam right up like a... clam. I'm so good at it you may not even notice that I change the subject or that I'm very brief and that I rarely talk about myself. 

I am working on this. It can feel like being pushed out onstage naked when I talk about myself. I watch the audience closely. Was that my line? Am I saying it right? I watch for signals. Did I mess that up? Am I in the right place? Did I hit my mark? Your mark? I try to be palatable. Too much of me and I start looking around for you, but you coming from me. Talking about myself makes me feel afraid. I don't like it. I worry you/the world won't like it. 

My afraid is the fear of being ridiculed or looking foolish, of making a mistake. My therapist and I have discussed this for several years now and I am at this place where I really love and trust myself inside. How to put that on the outside? It's like if you had a beautiful treasure but you keep it hidden. I love my beautiful treasure and I'm afraid if I show you you'll make fun of it or tell me it's stupid or that I don't know what I'm talking about. So it's much easier to live inside myself where I'm safe. 

Vulnerability is hard. 

Except.. I want to connect. I know I'm mostly not breakable fragile like that anymore, and I'm working on remembering that I'm a 50 year old woman who made my own recovery (don't we all?) and I've been purposely living and studying human behavior for almost 10 years in my own cool way and I have pretty terrific things to share about that and about me. I have mothered and run my own business and been married and separated and/or ended and/or repaired signifiant relationships- like my marriage, my relationship with my parents, a couple of friendships. 

These boundaries, the separation from other people is not a wall, it's a defense mechanism. A coping skill. I was thinking about how I tend to think people in my life think like me, but it's more like I try to guess what people are thinking and then I make myself like them. Writing that makes me think about how I don't really do that as much anymore but I feel like I do and I need to catch up to where I actually am. 

The idea that I am separate from other people means that we might be in relationship but we aren't the same person. 

What a relief. And what a mind fuck. For a lifetime I have thought that if someone was in my life it meant we matched. A strange sort of branch of codependency. Gaining the understanding that we can be in each others lives and differ vastly feels like maturity. It feels like I'm responsible for me, you're responsible for you- and we are responsible for each other too, but not dependent on similarity to function. 

This gleaning of personal separation feels like a wise expectation. 

As in: 

I expect me to be like me, and you to be like you. 

That seems real, and honest, and much less confusing than thinking the people in my life are mostly like me but I actually have to be mostly like them. It was a blind spot. It feels validating to see myself in the pool of that insight. 

I was reading something somewhere about how lately these days we all think we are unique and separate and individual and that's what's getting valued- that the collective has become the pieces, not the picture. I think it's both. 

It's the permeability. 

The ability to allow things to pass through you. To keep your self while keeping community. A frog's skin is permeable to water- but the frog does not become water, and the water does not become frog...they exist together, and apart. The frog is a frog, the water is a water. And there is the frog in the water, and there is the water surrounding the frog. 

Putting yourself - the youest you- out into the world as yourself is crazy: hard/easy/hard/easy on and on. There are so many ways we are bombarded with different options and opinions...how do you know? And then how do you not short circuit when rejected or laughed at or made fun of- even if it's only in your own mind? Being the "right" frog in the "right" water- it can be exhausting. 

And such an unconscious habit to be absorbed instead of be permeable. 

When I am absorbed I do not have boundaries. Something I have started noticing is that I do have boundaries, but I tend to set them and then erase them. It's wild to watch. I'm learning that if I am permeable I don't lose myself, or my boundaries- and it feels healthy and care full. I know where I am. It's kind of like always telling myself the truth and being willing to stand with that truth, and knowing that truth can change. That it isn't a threat to know more or do things differently. 

Taking it apart- here's me in a situation:

Me deciding what feels wisest for me. 

DOING THAT THING. 

Wanting to erase it (oh no! I didn't mean it! never mind! it's okay!), but not erasing it. 

Feeling totally uncomfortable in the itchy scritchy sweater of not erasing it. 

The sweet nugget of warmth that comes, a bit of confidence, of trust, of love. 

I have to do things in these kinds of instructions because then it makes more sense: I slow down, recite my practices to myself- whatever they may be- First you do this, then you do that. It's not about right or wrong. Please slow down. You don't have to go fast. 

There's a sense of recognition and congruency that arrives. I am me, and I am here, standing next to you, apart and together- permeable. 

Moving Along...You can come too!!!

After over four years here at Blogger I'm moving over to my very own website!

HERE IT IS!!!!

Come visit me at my new digs. You can still email me about anything, and I'll still be writing blog posts. I'm also offering Life + Recovery Coaching over there too.

Thank you to everyone who reads along with me here, I hope that you'll continue to be part of the Soberbia community. With this community I have grown into the woman I am today. Let's keep going. BIG LOVE.

A-holic

Do you ever feel like you're getting your shit together for like the nine hundredth time this year? That's me. I mean, do people who aren't a-holics just understand this all their lives? I'm getting used to the ebb and flow of my life, although I'm still surprised by how it does it. After almost four years sober I know what's coming mostly- about four times a year I get sad and lost, and about four times a year I pick myself up and find a way around that corner again. 

I wonder if it's stretching out my life suit, like growing but instead of in sizes in measures of prayer and hands up. But also like my ass is spreading out some, like I'm settling it down into the mud that is my life, wiggling it into the mud for a long stay. Getting comfortable. Finding a home.

I was laughing with my therapist the other day about how impossible it seems that until about eight months ago I had no idea that I struggled with anxiety. And now that I know it I recognize it everywhere- in traffic, at work, teaching yoga, when my kids argue, when my husband doesn't seem to see me, when people disagree and I'm not even involved, when I feel lost about who I even am anymore, should I have a cup of tea or water- there it is: anxiety. Is it attachment to outcome that makes me grab on so hard or just the fear of being an afterthought? 

But because I recognize it I can recognize it. And then that helps me to understand that if I recognize it then I can surrender to it because it's something I know. It's like the day I decided to quit drinking- I recognized myself as a person who is an alcoholic and so I understood that I could surrender to that, that it was safer to be an alcoholic than it was to be someone who would spend another day denying what I knew was the truth. 

Is there a difference between an alcoholic and a problem drinker? I only know that as soon as I slapped the label of "alcoholic" on myself I got sober. How fucking weird is that. It brings me a strange comfort in a way to be able to call this strong forceful part of myself something. Over the years that grew into calling myself an "a-holic" because I don't just only want to drink all the booze, in varying degrees I am driven to have more more more of anything that feels like permission. Giving this part of me a name gives it a form, it gives me something I can grab on to and hold and shake and shape. It gives me a part of myself I can identify and recognize. It makes it so when I feel anxious and I'm holding a handful of chocolate covered raisins I can think about who is holding those raisins and be able to put them back. It gives me someone to run to in the dark, someone to hand the light and pull in and tell sweet things like "it's okay" and "I think you need water".

I'm interested in your thoughts. 

Time to Decide

I know at this time last year I was hungover. And asleep. There was probably an empty glass of water beside my bed. I'd probably been up drinking until who knows when- I was getting really deep into my drinking at this point- blacking out almost every time.

Thinking about it now, I can still pick out things to blame. Excuses for having a bottle of wine by 8 o'clock a few times a week. My job was in an awful place. I needed wine to be able to hang out with the kids and not go batshit crazy. I never saw my husband and the only way we could spend time together was to drink together after he got home from work. I wasn't walking the dogs enough. I didn't know what to make for dinner. Life is hard. Blah blah blah.

I was charging full speed ahead into full on alcoholism.

Each trip to the store I was buying not one but two bottles of wine. And a twelve pack of beer, to be sure I would have enough. This seemed like a lot, but not like too much. I might have to share. I was adding seltzer to my wine to make it last longer because I'd started finishing the bottles too fast. I'd started drinking bottles of Prosecco since sparkling means celebrating and there's nothing wrong with that.

I can still picture myself in the kitchen after two glasses getting dinner ready. The boys in front of the TV. Me sneaking out into the back yard to smoke just one more cigarette and then finish dinner. I picture this shell that was me, but not me. I picture me, but I was vacant, disappearing. More wine, dinner, bath, stories. The relief of the back porch when everyone was in bed. The annoyance when one of them would get up and come find me.

It's really hard to remember this stuff. To think about my little boys in their pajamas standing at the porch door wanting me, but I wasn't emotionally there. How they must not have understoond why I wouldn't pay attention to them, or leave the back porch to tuck them in one more time. Maybe they didn't see it as unusual, but I knew it was wrong. They never knew what mom to expect. I suspect they were starting to know which one to expect: none at all.

It's hard to think of my husband coming home from work and finding me in some sort of drunken state chain smoking on the porch. How much that must have sucked. How I would launch into some big talk about how he wasn't good enough at being a husband, or father, or housekeeper, or person, or whatever. How I unloaded all the stuff I hated about myself onto him. I made it about him instead of me. He never knew what wife to expect. I suspect he was starting to want no wife at all.

But I always knew what to expect. I was either going to be drinking or hungover, or in one of those two to five day spaces of trying to not drink. And I was always going to have that tape playing in my head- the greatest hits version of "You Suck At Life" playing over and over again.

There comes this time in all of our lives when we have to decide.

And I'm not talking about "I need to" or "I want to" or "I'm going to try".

I'm talking about "I AM".

It was not until I told myself "I AM GOING TO BE SOBER" and "I AM NOT DRINKING" that I did it.

There's a difference in the way "I AM" and "I WANT TO" is. "I AM" means it. "I WANT TO" gives you an out. "I WANT TO" means that you mean it in the morning when you feel awful and hungover, but that when later rolls around and you're having a drink it's OK, because you didn't say you were going to quit. You just said you wanted to.

It was not until I told myself "I AM GOING TO BE SOBER" and "I AM NOT DRINKING" that I did it.

The biggest thing I remember from the last day I woke up hungover and said "FROM THIS MOMENT ON I AM NEVER DRINKING AGAIN" is the relief. I was laying there, it was noon. I decided. I put down my weapons and surrendered. I felt that surrender, deep deep down. "I AM GOING TO BE OK." I wasn't sure that could be be true, but I believed it anyway. 

I knew that there were going to be two ways things would turn out. My truth would either be "I AM AN ALCOHOLIC" or "I AM ALIVE". I had to decide.

It's one of those things sitting here writing to y'all and me. If I said what I want to I would say just this: Quit. Quit right now and never look back. It is so much better, I promise, promise promise. I put it in writing. I say you can do it. You can. You can. You will be amazed at yourself, and so proud. Do it! But things just aren't that simple sometimes. And maybe you wouldn't believe me, or maybe you wouldn't believe that it was possible for you. I sometimes feel like it would come off like one of those weight loss infomercials where you watch and go "Oh! Look how good he/she looks! I want to do that!..... I could never do that." 

But you can. It will be true for you, just like it has been true for me. Your people will know who to expect. You will too. You will feel that relief, that surrender. It's always the right time to decide. 

11 Months Sober Today

I'm 11 months sober today. It hardly seems possible that almost a whole year has gone by, but it has! I'm going to visit a lifelong friend next weekend. The last time we were together we sat on my back porch and drank and smoked for hours. She asked me if I was still not drinking, and I said  yep, and she said wow. That's a long time. Yep.

I've been counting days again- looking forward to this 11 month benchmark. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel like I can look in my rearview mirror and I don't even see any booze in the picture. I have a pile of sober days now, a sober history now. I have enough time that it isn't just a phase, or a whim, but a truth about me. I am so, so, so fucking proud of that.

Last night my husband and I went out to dinner together just us for the first time since I've been sober. (I know, in pretty much a year. Holy head smack.) It was wonderful, wonderful. We talked. And ate. Relaxed. And ate. I went to the bathroom before dessert and felt so good to be sober. To be standing in the bathroom not uber buzzed after way to much to drink already. To not be reeking of cigarettes and wine. To not worry if I stumbled. To feel beautiful and clear. To remember it all.

I feel like we shared a meal. That we had a chance to bond. That we need to do that more! Our marriage is kind of like a kid learning to ride a bike. There can be a lot of wobbling, and sometimes a wreck. But we really want to know how to ride a bike, so we keep practicing. As I learn to live in my sobriety I learn how to be a better wife. A kinder one. I see that my husband really loves me because I give him the chance to. When I was drinking my heart was a wooden door. It's hard to open it, but I'm learning to trust him. To lean on him and feel safe. We are becoming a "we" again.

Oh, the progress of sobriety. God, it is such a wonderful hard thing.

A Broken Promise Revisited

When my youngest turned two we took a bike ride on the trail near our house together. We went to this trail almost every day- I logged miles and miles running and running and pushing both he and his older brother there in the running stroller. On that day he was behind me in the bike seat. I was very hungover.

"I promise you, for your birthday, I will quit drinking. I will quit for you. I will quit on your birthday so I will always remember. I will quit so you can have a mom better than me." I said these words reverently, quietly. I meant them. All of them. But it was a promise I only kept until later that day when we opened bottles of wine to celebrate.

I regretted even speaking those words out loud, for even though he wouldn't know what I meant the universe surely heard and was possibly pissed. But then again the universe knew I was a big fat liar and didn't believe a word I said anyway.

My youngest turns five on Sunday. He will never know the pain and sadness I feel at how I frittered away his babyhood and toddler days carelessly drinking and drinking. I drank when I was breastfeeding. I drank and drank away his first year so carelessly and sporatically that I don't really even remember much of it, other than I was marathon training, picked up smoking again, and stayed out all night getting wasted with people from work when I should have been home with my new baby, his brother, and my husband.

Looking back, I can guess that I had some pretty serious postpartum shit going on. Which I probably could have seen if I hadn't been in such a fog of drunk and hungover and emotional overload. Holy shit. God, I think back on that year and how I hate it. I ran a marathon and was so proud of myself. The accomplishment of that one day should have been what I felt every day about my home, my family. That year I was so so so selfish, and hated it all while I loved it so much I had to turn away. There was so much to lose, and I was trying my best to lose it.

I remembered that bike ride earlier today. Out of the blue it popped up in my head. I didn't keep that promise for a few more years, but the important part is that I finally kept it.

I am so thankful to my husband for staying even when he should have left. I am thankful to my children for loving me in spite of what they don't even realize I've done. I am so thankful to myself for finally coming to my senses and being brave enough to say help, and no. No more. No. more. Please. And then I can. I can. I am doing it.

It's unsettling how I can recall that one snippet of declaration from three years ago. And totally understandable since I said those things to myself all the time, but just never out loud, to anyone. And how that one conversation on that one day stuck with me.

I imagine that my sobriety is built on all of these conversations and wishes. I believe that I am so strongly sober because I yearned for it so desperately for so long. I know that one reason I stay sober is because I made a promise to a little boy three years ago and I need to keep it. I will stay sober because I make a promise to myself every day to keep going.

Luckily my husband stayed. My boys love me fiercely with open arms and hearts. Our loves aren't perfect, but they are ours. I don't have to break the beauty of them to keep them holy. I keep my promises. I make ones I mean. I'll stay sober. I'll love and not be afraid. I'll go through it instead of around it. I promise.

Getting There

Part of what I find the most glorious about being sober is when I find my way there. You know: there. Where you knew you needed to be all this time, but then there was that wrong turn at Albuquerque ugh! And who folded the map this way? Somehow your inner GPS sends you in the right direction in spite of all the "Are we there yet?" and stops for the bathroom. Oprah calls it "light bulb moment". I call it "there". About compromise? I'm there.

My life has children. And other people. Which means my life is full of compromises. And plan changes. And this way. And that way.

I realized something: stop that. It hit me like a ton of bricks.

Stop. That.

When I was drinking my life was full of compromises too. Every day I drank, or was hungover, or tried not to drink and then drank anyway: compromise. Bending. Making concessions to make it work out.

I notice that my compromises usually end up with me clutching the short end of the stick and wondering what just happened. That I tend to make sure other people's or easier needs are met. That in interest of peace I retreat, although sometimes I don't go gracefully, I go.

I think I'm confusing "compromise" with "giving in".

I'm a peace-maker. And a care-taker. I want there to be happy. But I do this for other people. So, I'm taking care of someone else, or meddling mending fences for another person. But I don't do these things for me.

I realized suddenly: wait a minute here! WHY AM I DOING THIS? Why am I yammering on and on for ten minutes about this rule and why that thing? Why do I not stand up for myself? Why can I not have my rules, my way, and stick to it? Why do I waffle and waver? Why am I making my own life so hard?

Why am I making my own life so hard.

I have to laugh a little since that sounds totally dramatic.

But totally true! Gah! Why do we make things so hard on ourselves? Why do we give in even when we know it will totally suck? Why are we so afraid of hard, fast rules? And why will I put myself out for someone else, but I won't make things easier for me? Is it easier when I make things harder because that's what I'm used to?

I can hear the answers to those questions: It doesn't have to be hard. I don't have to give in. I like rules. I will take care of me. Yes! I make things harder because it feels comfortable. And I'll work on that.

Suddenly: I'm THERE.

Ready for this next part. Able to start practicing being a negotiator, not a doormat. Having some guidelines. Guidelines: rules I have and hold that guide me, that flashlight-in-the-night show me the way.

With my children: there are rules. Some are not bendable, or earn-back-able. Some things just are.

With people in my life: there are rules. Some are not flexible. Some just are. I'm still learning to stand up for myself and say what I mean and not try to fix it all. Making other people's problems their problems. Not compromising my sanity for your stuff. Asking myself "Who's job is it to fix it?" or "Is this the right decision for me?" and my new favorite "Can I really handle that?" And then listening to the answer.

With me: there are rules. Some are not stretchable. Some just are. Remember to follow them even when these new ones feel weird and not at all like the old days.

Being sober gives me this sense of pride that I never had before. Pride in the cherished way, not pride in the puffed up way. That pride makes it easier to see when I need to bend, and when bending makes me break.

Three's A Crowd

On my ride to work this morning I was zooming down a hill, grinning like a fool in the dawn's early light. And no one much oh say can you see'd, since it's early. But that doesn't stop my brain from haranguing me.

"You didn't leave on time. You aren't going that fast. You should worry about not doing so great at work today." (I'm doing new stuff at work.)

And then my heart-me yelled out, "Shut UP! You are wrecking it! This is AWESOME!"

Wow!

I thought about how, all my life, I've had not one, not two, but three voices in my head. There's just-me, then there's ego-me, then there's heart-me. And ego-me has a big fat loud mouth. Ego-me drowns out the other me's since it is, after all, an ego. It's pushy and always has to be the center of attention. Regular me is just-me. Usually background noise. Heart-me is shy and reserved, not very outspoken or chance-y. Just-me comes up with the ideas, then the other two are like the life commentators- like sportscasters, but without sports, only plenty of keeping score.

I started holding heart-me's hand and listening when it speaks up. Really listening. Not that wishy washy bullshit where you say "I know, I know" to your sweet self and then listen to the same old song and dance from ego-me. But in the "I HEAR YOU!" way you imagine things might be at some churches where people are swaying with their eyes closed and their hands waving around in the air. Amen.

Getting sober is such an excavation- a mystery. Where did this shit come from? And then: What the hell do I do with it? Well, here's what I do: I puzzle and struggle and then I figure something out and life gets easier in my head. I move closer to forgiving all of me for my past hurts. Realizing that I can ignore ego-me, or even hear it but just not listen was another one of those moments of a-ha that seem almost stupid since I should have realized that, oh, about a million years ago.

But yay! I'm nurturing my heart-me, my soul. In my head, three is definitely a crowd. Too many indians, not enough chief. I needed some crowd control- so I found another voice in my head: bouncer. But heart-me is the bouncer, which keeps me from being Sybil, since everyone knows you can have up to three voices in your head and still be considered OK. (And, just in case, that is not really true.)

All of this is going to take some practice, practical just-me reminds me when ego-me is steadily murmuring about how this blog doesn't even make sense. All of this seems so "me, me me" but that's the way getting sober is: you have to be selfish for a while, get the sharks out of the water, and then you invite folks over for a swim. I have to be self absorbed and all curious about "me" since things were so out of whack before when I was drowning all the voices in my head. And they still are, but in a nice way that is all about: me.

Life as Seed

Here we are y'all. Just living, you know, day to day. Making breakfast, making decisions, making a life. I've been finding some measure of comfort lately in the simple of it all. How life has kind of untangled and sort of wanders along. Meanders even.

Lord, I did never ever think my life might just meander.

Even in all my great messiness there was that beauty I was, the beauty I am inside. I could not ever have the appreciation for my simple day to day life if I had not been who I was then. Just the plain act of waking up and realizing that I'm sober rewards me daily. The way I look at my face in the mirror- without shame or malice, oh.

I kind of liken my life to me as a seed. You know, you can drown a plant. There is a such thing as too much water. In trying to grow my beauty (you know, fit in) I suffocated who I really was. Poor pitiful little me pouring my life out. I love the idea that sobriety dries you out, makes you reach to find the water to nourish you. Gets rid of that seed coat and lets you push your tender self right on up and out towards the honesty of a real life. A life with real feelings, and memories, and people who care for you- not the you who makes them feel better about how much they drink- but care for you. Because really you have to be cared for and about. And these are two different things. And then a lot the same. You know, just like people and seeds.

I think about people who are struggling with giving up booze every day. I think about the people I know, and the people I don't know who are in their heads wishing and wondering if it can be done. I wish I could do an on call sobriety service: you call, we hang out and drink seltzer for two weeks until you get your feet under you, and then you stay sober forever. And then I might have to be a magician. And since I'm already juggling too many ideas I can't do that too. So then maybe you have to be a magician for yourself.

Growing something from a seed really is kind of like magic. Put a hard small thing in dirt. Give it water, sun, and caring. Not too much of any of these though. Things can go haywire if you smother something with too much of any of these things. Much like early sobriety (since you're trying to defeat the mess of having too much as it is) you have to figure out how to do things to the here and not the WAY OVER HERE!!!! Your plant will show you what it needs if you pay attention: drooping from too much water, shriveling from too little. Not growing or flowering if there's not any sun. I think you can care about it as much as you want to though. That part will be OK, except not too much since you might need other things to do, too. And then with caring, for and about, your plant will give you cool things like flowers, or tomatoes.

Growing a sober you from a seed is definitely like magic too. Here you are, hard and scared and in the dirt. Just the thought that you can get sober is enough. It's enough to start the magic. And then as you stay sober you start to learn how to grow yourself, you start to see who you are and what you need not just to survive but to thrive. To grow and flower and get a strong trunk and loads of leaves and whatever you want to have your life to be. And the more you care for yourself the easier it gets and the better it is and then maybe you're an orchard or an entire garden center and it rocks.

I've planted a garden on my drinking porch. It looks nothing like it did last spring. Last spring there was a big metal table with an umbrella. A few flower pots and beer bottles full of smelly cigarette butts. Now that table is in the yard, the stinky cigs are gone, and there are tiny plants all over the place, and two bright green plastic chairs. I have also learned, over these past several months, that I've planted a garden in my head: that I can have an abundant, fertile, beautiful life. So as my garden grows on the porch, my sobriety is growing too.

If you are struggling with your magic, if you are wishing for your own garden, I applaud your courage. Just thinking about quitting is hard. Go today and find a something to plant a seed in. Find your seed. Plant it. Even if you're still drinking take care of that little seed. Let it remind you to take care of you. Hold that seed, that little plant instead of a drink. Tell it your problems. Watch it grow. I'm rooting for you.

Sober Birthday or: How I Remembered Every Bit About Turning 42

Me, Jack, Hampton, & Husband. Yes! That's really us!

I celebrated my forty-second birthday this weekend. It was my first one sober in about twenty humpfh snerf years. It was one of the best times I've ever had. Ever.

We ran. We camped. We laughed- a lot. We slept on creaky loud cots, and it was cold in the morning. On my birthday I woke up and stood outside cooking eggs and bacon while shivering and drinking delicious coffee. It was awesome.

Y'all, camping has always been a drink fest. You know- you get there, start to unpack the car, crack open a cold beer. Slowly get wasted. Wake up hungover in the morning annoyed at the kids and the outdoorsy-ness of it all. Maybe you lost the keys to the car somehow when you were trying to hide them so they'd be safe before you passed out and now you're dying of thirst and all the water is in the car. And you're miles from a locksmith and the campground host isn't around to call since you have no cell phone service. And you're still dying of thirst, and the children are confused and hungry.  But then you finally find the keys right where you left them. I mean, that could happen. 

So....once again, sober was so much better. My oldest and I were walking to the bathroom together and he grabbed me and looked up at me and said in his sweet way, "I just love you mom." like he does when he really does just love me, and all is right with the world. I was there for everything: not concentrating on how much beer was left, or if it was too soon for another sip of the sipping tequila. Not wondering if we should open some wine. Not wishing it was time for the children to go to bed so I could smoke cigarettes and stop worrying about them and get drunk. (Like I wasn't already well on my way....)

I laughed so much.

I said, out loud, how much I loved people. How much it meant to me that they were there to celebrate with me. I called a friend to thank her for the flowers she gave me instead of texting her. I said "Thank you so much, this meant so much to me" to another friend who brought cake. I was so grateful to my husband who did almost all the packing and unpacking for our trip. I hugged my mom and dad and told them while I looked at them how wonderful it was for them to share the weekend with me. All of that was very brave since I love a lot, but not out loud.

I also said out loud to myself how proud I was of me. I hugged and held my sweet sober self and cried some with all the gratitude and joy sobriety brings me. I forgave myself my past more. I turned forty two. And I will always remember every sweet little bit.

Life As A Box

I was talking with a new friend about possibilities the other day. We were talking about life. And how it can be kind of like a box. And how you are the one who decides how big your box is.

I've had several people ask me what the benefits of sobriety are. In other words, why be sober when drinking is so a-) socially acceptable and sobriety makes you a weirdo and b-)  so easy and comfy. This is the best way I can explain it. Drinking makes your life box small. My legs are cramping up a little already just from looking at her in there.

It's like, if you drew a box on the floor and put yourself in it, the ways you would stretch when you drink are just arms length. A reach out to the fridge for another bottle. A reach over to turn the alarm off for the fifth time. A reach up to massage your aching head. A reach inside to push yourself around for being hungover again.

When you really quit drinking your life box grows. You can start to push your boundaries. When I first quit I think my life box even got a little smaller at first- I was so scared to do anything. And the only thing I really wanted to do was stay sober. It was all I thought about. Then, suddenly I was walking around a bit. Taking a look around. Peering out the windows. Hell, making some windows. There are trees. And birds. Possibilities.

Because I am sober I can make my life box just what I want it to be. I can add whole rooms if I want to. Growth is feasible because I'm not suffocating from a hangover. I can commit myself to my life. I can make plans. Invite other people in. I can say, "Look! See what I'm doing? Isn't this nice? Aren't you proud of me?" My life is a place other people want to be.

I can give love to other people since I'm feeling love for myself. Sobriety makes my heart bigger. Whereas I used to hide- not answer the phone. Oh, God. NOT the doorbell. (This still takes practice. The phone rang last night, I picked it up, looked at it, didn't answer. Then I called right back. Silly. But I didn't answer the phone before, or call back, ever. I didn't want anyone to know I was drinking. And then I didn't want to have to make up excuses for why I couldn't make plans.) Now the kids can have friends over. I make lunch plans for my days off. Sometimes this even happens two days in a row.

You know how, when a house or building gets built, you use these things called cornerstones? Look at the definition: a stone representing the nominal starting place in the construction of a monumental building, usually carved with the date and laid with appropriate ceremonies. And: something that is essential, indispensable, or basic. Holy crap. That's what happens when you make a sober date. You make a cornerstone. A nominal, indispensable starting place. A strong place to start your new life box.

OK, now, also. It can get a little crazycakes when you start making the box bigger. You might have to go whoa whoa whoa! Hold up. Tooooo many changes. I can't even find the other side of my box now. I need to go back to my cornerstone. Have a seat. Think a minute. And you can do that since you aren't drunk so you know where you put it. Here it is. Ahhhh. Right where I left it.

You also might forget that the box is yours and start trying to make it look like someone else's. You get turned around then too because you don't recognize your surroundings. Head back to the cornerstone. Walk the perimeter. Trust.

Imagine your life as a box. Imagine how booze makes that box jail. Imagine how you can make a cornerstone. Or two. Or as many as you want because this is your box. A box to shape and grow. A box to open. A gift to share.

A life.

Big Wooden Door

This is me six months ago. I'm the one on the left. Or maybe the right. No, definitely me in the middle. 

This picture looks like what drinking felt like to me. Like I had my head stuck in the middle of a big wooden door. It was heavy, and uncomfortable. My family is in there, too. Stuck just like me. And there's my life, trapped as well. But doesn't it look fun? Woo hoo, life of the party right there! Hand me another Prosecco!

Maybe this is the picture they should put on bottles of beer. Because it represents what drinking is really like. I mean, I suppose not for those people who can have one beer or two. (What is the point? Really?) So they can have regular labels. But for those of us that drink like I used to we get these. Would it help? Help if reality was staring you in the face every time you took a sip? I dunno, I think I would have just turned the bottle around and kept right on chugging.

Every day I try to figure out why I stopped this time. Why? What happened? Why was that day different? And all the days after that? 

Now, let me clarify. This is not a study in self torture- more like a wonderment. It kind of sounds like a puzzle and a bunch of gratitude all rolled into one. 

The other day I found a video I made of myself to myself on my phone last fall. It was me, telling me not to drink. Something along the lines of..."Later you are going to want to drink. Don't do it. NO MATTER WHAT." I can look at myself in that video and see that I am lying. I was totally going to be downing sauvignon blanc later that day. And for a few more months after that.

Sobriety is such a process. I began, in earnest, in January or December two years before I actually quit drinking. I was sober-ish for almost four months (Longer than now- but I can't remember if I drank a little here and there then. I think I did.) I felt great. But I started up again. My job went south. I had a hernia and couldn't run. More stuff. Bring on the binge. Bring on the funk.

And it was funky. At the end of my drinking I was a big ol' mess. Fighting with husband. Ignoring the children. Sort of letting life wobble and steadily unravel. Wandering around with that door on my neck. Lugging it everywhere. Ugh.

I finally had to trust myself. I finally had to believe myself when I said "I don't want to drink anymore" for the five millionth time. I had to put that damn door down or resign myself to a lifetime spent carrying it instead of just the twenty years or so I had been.

Getting sober is about truth, and also lying. Except that the truth is that you cannot drink, and the lying is you telling yourself that you are quite lovely, and wonderful. That you are perfectly OK even when you are at your craziest. Pretty much the exact opposite of drinking: when you told yourself it was OK to drink, and the lying was you bashing yourself over and over telling yourself what a failure and suckball you were.

Getting sober, to me, is this: You take this person, this you, and you start to care for her.You make her trust her. You refuse to hurt her, or be mean to her. You are flat out honest with her. Even when honest is really hard. You hold her when she is fragile and scared, and laughing hug her when she gets it right- or feels comfy in her skin. You encourage her. You forgive her past, her mistakes. You make her responsible for what she does. You make her want to live beyond even her wildest dreams because there you are, holding your own hand for the scary parts. You take the door away from her. You throw her hands into the air on a bike for her. Because, you love her.

Predicting the Future

I woke up way too early trying to finagle the future again. I wish there were some way to figure out the answer right now. To know the very best choice. To maybe have someone who tells me what to do and then they are always right and I live in bliss for eternity. But a real person. Who might look a lot like Yoda. And sound like Maggie Smith.

When I was drinking, my life just kind of scooched along. It was sort of boring really. The only thing I really really worried about was my drinking. It encompassed everything. It affected everything. It took up all the space in my head. It was big. And solo. A one man band.

Now, holy shit. There is a carnival going on up there. Look over here! Here's this! And that! And this! There are so many options I am starting to feel a little overwhelmed. But in a good way, mostly. The hard part is not knowing how it ends. Not knowing what really is the best choice. Where is Dionne Warwick when I need her? Psychic friends? Hello?

The hardest part of early sobriety for me right now is reigning it all in. I feel like I want to pack all the missed possibilities in. Like right now. Is it possible to be too excited about life? I don't want to go off all willy nilly and end up with handfuls of fits and starts and no results.

And then I think about all the years I spent drinking and wishing for sobriety. And now here it is. Wish come true. Whoa. I mean really. WHOA.

So does that mean that maybe my other wishes can come true, too?

My life is really big right now. It's like I've been speeding around on a windy day in a convertible. Everything's sort of blown all around. I might need some smoothing. Some refining. Perhaps a pretty scarf to keep things together.

I need to remember that I don't need to predict the future because I can trust it. Me. At the carnival. In my pretty scarf.

For Those About To Rock: This One's For the Lurkers

This is the party I had for myself last night for my NINETY DAYS today. Well, really I had a clumsy tea party with my four year old and played crazy eights for an extra twenty minutes. But this is kind of what it looks like in my head. And you don't even want to see what's happening in my heart!

And then I read that. I was around at bath-time? I played cards with the children at the END of the day? Holy shit, I must be sober. It's when I think about the living I'm doing that I realize how fucking important these days have been to me. And then I feel excited and actually smile out loud because I get to keep going.

Now, look. It's not all crazy eights and tea parties around here. The night before I put the four year old to bed mad and crying. Sometimes it's goodnight and good riddance. But I knew it. And I wasn't outside on the porch swilling wine and chain smoking twenty minutes later, I was in kissing his tear stained face and pulling the covers up tight while he snored. (Oh! Tired. No wonder he was being such an ass. I was too. Tired, and an ass.)

There's nothing more annoying when you want to do something that someone else is already doing than reading about their successes. Then you think: "That won't happen for me." Or: "But my life is different." Or just: "But. But. But. But." There's also nothing better that reading about other people doing it because it means if they can do it you can too. I mean, I hate all that "You can do it!" shit as much as the next guy. "If I can you can, rah rah rah!" Shut. The. Fuck. Up. But.

But (ahem) you can. And you will find nothing else as satisfying as getting some power over your life. You will pile up hours then days like stones and blocks until you start a wall. You'll look over the wall and see booze over there lonely and sad and you will turn your back. You will turn your back and tend to what needs tending because that's what sober people do. You will stop drowning. You will breathe. My god, how you will breathe.

You will no longer feel like a liar and a cheat. You will wake up in the morning and know exactly what you said last night. You will feel the best and worst you have ever felt and you will not climb back over that wall no matter what. You will become beautiful not because you lose weight but because you can see yourself and you feel proud. You will peer over the wall and see shame over there too and you won't give it another thought. You will not go back.

You will realize that there is no way to build a gate in the wall. You cannot drink again. Ever. You will hate that. WHY ME? How am I going to celebrate blah blah's whatever if I can't drink? Then you go. And you have seltzer and feel uncomfortable and people think you are charming not sloppy.

Getting sober, on paper, is pretty dang easy. It's free. You don't have to travel to a certain place to find it. It doesn't require a degree. You can be any age. Any sex, race, or religion. You can do it any time you want. I'm pretty sure there aren't laws against it.

I cannot do it for you. I am already doing it for myself. And this shit is hard, so only one per customer. But I will tell you this: if I did it for you, it would not be as gorgeous. It would not be yours. And that's what it is, really. Yours. Yours for the taking.

Booze - Me = Still Me

I was sick again for the past few days. Strep throat this time. My dearest pen pal extraordinaire Belle reminded me to be extra patient with my sad sick ol' self. And I wasn't. I was mad. World? Do you see that pissed off person? It's me. And I'm mad at you.

In one of life's little "the joke's on me" ever since I quit drinking I have been sick pretty much the entire time. Very funny universe. I mean WTF? Dear, sweet, noble me has decided to get it together and now I feel like shit all the time? Ahem. How DARE you?

Here's the thing: wasn't I sick and feeling cruddy all the time before? This should feel like normal, not like a slap in the face. I realized I'm carrying around all these secret resentments I thought would magically go away because I got sober. Could you move please? My unicorn can't get through.

I thought I was going to lose weight since I quit drinking. I thought my face would be glowing and blemish-less. I thought all my money problems would melt away. My marriage would be the stuff of songs. Life would be...better. Easier. I wouldn't have to deal with so much emotional junk. I would be a better mom. I would be able to concentrate. I would take up sewing and the guitar. I would have so much extra time since I wasn't dedicating it all to either being hungover or getting drunk. There would be space in my brain for new stuff since the broken record finally actually broke. 

Part of the reason I drank was to get away from me and my "hard" life. Because I didn't like who I was, my life would never mold into what I thought it should be. I was never good enough just because I was me. 

Take away the booze and guess what's left? Still me. 

Me and my crazycakes belief that life is supposed to be easy. I really thought that at some point you get there. Sometimes I still do. Like you're on a rafting trip. Just around this next bend and over this waterfall and then I'm thinner, richer, and more beautiful than ever. Just around this next one I guess. Or this next one. OK, maybe one more.

When you are never satisfied there is always another bend. You never ever feel content. There, finished, and easy are when you're dead.

Oh.

One of the great things about sobriety is that you're aware of it all. One of the suckiest things about sobriety is that you're aware of it all.  

There's a way to find the balance of seeking and satisfied. To let the old stories in your head go, for good. For real. To stop wishing for not impossible things, just the wrong things. To put all that wasted energy into things that actually work. To change not only that inner voice that shamed you daily for drinking, but to change the chorus behind it.

Lead singer: "You suck because you drink..." 

Chorus: "And you're an unsuccessful fat ass too!" 

Change to:

Lead singer: "You rock because you're sober..."

Chorus: "And you made fresh lemonade too!"

Change the stories in your head that just aren't true. Change the lies you've been telling yourself. Be brave enough to see the truth. The real truth. Even if it makes you out to be a pretty decent sort. It's OK to be you, and be proud too. Right now. 

I thought getting sober was going to 'fix' it all. Since that didn't work I'm pretty sure having a number six in the waistband of my jeans and more zeros at the end of my bank balance won't do it either. Looks like I'm just going to have to keep going around the bend. Again. And again. And again. 

p.s. Life IS better. Tons. Boatloads!

Breadcrumbs

Early sobriety

Last night I listened to my first Bubble Hour podcast. I liked it. It made me think different thinks. It made me think about being lost with no map in sight. It made me wish for flashlights and compasses for everyone. It made me want the way to sobriety to be as easy as one two three Google Maps. It made me want to be a guide, with senior helpers.  It made me think about Hansel, and Gretel.

My path to sobriety was littered with breadcrumbs every day. Not a day went by that my inner mama/guide didn't drop crumbs on my way. Hints, suggestions- sometimes loaves of them. Most days I would just keep trudging along, ignoring the crumbs and searching the forest for other things instead. (Look! A forest! But I can't find the trees...) I couldn't be bothered with simple breadcrumbs- I had bigger messages to get, and they were all at the bottom of my wineglass.

And every day those little bits were there. Every day I knew what I needed to do. I needed to follow those crumbs, which were parts of my heart. Every day that I drank I tore off another piece of my heart and left it lying there on the path for me to see the next day. Every day I tried to save myself. Every day I looked away.

I don't know what made me look the day I did. I tripped over a heart loaf and fell. Hard. And while I was down there, lying on the path, I saw all these bits of me waiting to be put back together. I got hungry. I was tired of the sea of trees. I could not go a step further until I looked down at the path to see where the heck I was going.

So I looked. I started picking up those crumbs and going the way my heart and soul wanted to go.

It's never enough for someone to say "Sobriety is so much better" and "You'll be so much happier" or even "Follow the breadcrumbs". You have to do it yourself. You have to trust the signs you leave out for yourself in the night, in the dark, in the hope of your heart. The way to get your inner compass to stop spinning is to take the clues you're given. You follow and trust and hold virtual hands with other people who are trying to stop spinning too. People who come back for you even though it's raining and dark and you wandered away again. You believe you can do it until you are look ma no hands! doing it. You are Hansel and Gretel. And you are doing it.

HIGH FIVE Sunday 2.17.13

Hi!

High five Sunday today. I'm going to tell you good stuff about my week, and how many days I've been sober. Then you can tell me stuff too and I'll cheer for you. Right here. Online. And I also do some cheering outloud. Which scares the dogs a little until they realize it's good and then tail wagging all around. Myself included.

This week on Monday, Tuesday, AND Wednesday the kiddos and I watched no TV. We played outside, we played cards, we went to the library. We had a fucking great time and everyone behaved beautifully. (Mostly) I think TV sucks the creativity right out of them and would throw it out the window but then how would I watch the Shah's of Sunset Reunion tonight? :)

Trust. Big thoughts on the horizon.

I have still not made any decision about job stuff. Because I'm practicing that waiting-on-it stuff.

I still cannot spell becasue right the first time. Ever. I cherish these little tiny opportunities to laugh at myself. It's our own private joke. And y'all's too.

I cleaned the dining room and put all the dusty wine glasses away in a cabinet. I was drinking my seltzer treat out of them for a while, then without notice or fanfare I was drinking it out of our regular drinking glasses. Well. Heh heh. Progress.

I'm seventy three days sober. Yee-HAW! Sobriety rocks. Thanks for reading , and commenting, and letting me be me. Sometimes there ain't enough gratitude in the world so THANK YOU.

And HIGH FIVE!!!! Wha-POW!

Investing in Commitment

I'm reading a book by Peter Buffett called Life Is What You Make It. I picked it up randomly at the library the other day during the six minutes I had to browse before the boys get bored and the library cop comes to me with Hampton since he's been playing with the water fountain. So four minutes then. It's a really on time find- he discusses career, and choices, and other cool life stuff. (The subtitle is Find Your Own Path to Fulfillment.) I love shit like this. It's kind of like a decoder ring.

Here's this quote: (attributed to Goethe)

"Until one is committed  there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. Concerning all acts of initiative and creation, there is one elementary truth, the ignorance  of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never have occurred  A whole stream of events issues from the decision  raising in one's favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would come his way. Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now."

In the back of my head I've been pushing around my label. What I call why I don't drink. How I explain it. I don't feel like an alcoholic now. I don't feel like an addict now. I don't feel like I need to struggle and yearn for freedom every day because I am enslaved to something much more powerful that  me. I don't feel like I need to promise myself that I can drink one day but just not today. That doesn't work for me. To me that's like the eat all your dinner and you can have dessert promise. Forced reward. Blegg.

Then I read that quote and zing. That's what you call what I'm doing. Commitment! Until one is committed  there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back. That was the problem all those times I tried to quit before. I wasn't committed. I was toe in testing the water, not jumping in letting the safety net close over me.

My sobriety has been entirely about readiness. I was not ready until I was ready. I was ready to commit. To make a promise to my lifelong partner (me!) that I would  love and cherish her all the rest of my days. For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. For better and for worse. Is sobriety like getting married? Could be.

So I think that means I don't even have a label. I just have a promise. Between me and me. I'll worry about how to explain it when it comes up. It means that I cannot renege or hesitate. The moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. There are clear expectations. No one is wandering around in the dark looking for a wine glass because there will never be one. That makes me feel safe.

Ah. Take a breath.

Sometimes I want to have all the answers. And then sometimes I get one.

"Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now."

Curse Show

I'm not sure what it is about sobriety that makes me want to cuss like crazy. And not like "Awwww, fuck." Like "Fuck yeah!" or "Holy shit!"

Yesterday on my run my ego started whining, "This is kind of hard. Shouldn't we slow down and get comfortable?" And I spoke up, "Fuck you! RUN! It's supposed to be hard!" Then I chanted "Fuck you, run fuck you, run, fuck you, run" until I finished my last mile really fast for me. And then I walked and beamed and felt great since I gave that ol' ego bastard a beat down.

Oh, life. Aren't you funny? When I got home the dogs were filthy. Beaming at the back door, hair all stringy from the mud. Only their heads we a little dry. And us with a broken shower dog rinser thing-y. Cue ego: "Oh, no. This is haaarrrrddddd. What will we do? Let's just avoid this situation." I was noticing a trend here. Things get hard, ego hands you the easy card. Or a wine glass. Fuck you. Deal.

Instead we made a dog pen in the dining room so they could eat, drink, and dry off. (Side note: Dogs still messy. You should see the dirt on the couch from it drying and falling off while Jelly slept. Holy shit.)

As an encore life had this one last thing while I was two minutes from finishing dinner: "Mom? Hampton just threw up all over the coffee table." (my oldest said this so casually I thought he was kidding.) I walked in to the room to look. Yep. Barf. Coffee table, rug. And then all over the kitchen floor where he tried to make it to the toilet. Ego: "Waaahhhhhhhhh!!! Whhhhhyyyyyyyy?????? Who will clean this up?" I actually considered for a brief millisecond calling my husband at work so he could come home and clean it up.

And then I handled it. Fuck you. Big girl boots. Clomp. Clomp.

Sobriety. It's this cool place where you suddenly get to decide. You decide you can do hard things, and then you do them. It's this place where you have to yell strong words like 'fuck' and 'shut the fuck up' to that whiny part of you that's such a damned coward. It's where I get to feel like a superhero because I do hard things like run fast, handle dirty dogs, and mop up vomit.

It's where, in the night, I can go to my little sick four year old son. I hear his tiny voice "Mommy? Mommy?" and I'm there. I'm all there. I can rub his back, and look into his olive brown eyes. Push back his dirty blond hair. Hold the trash can while he barfs. And I'm not drunk. I'm not drunk.

Fuck yeah. :)