Glass Slipper

You know how, you spend a lot of time liking stuff, and then you realize you really don't like it at all?

It's peach season, and everyone is raving about peaches. I love a good peach. But I rarely get a good one. Peaches make me feel.....meh. And then people all but insist that peaches are a must right now, and if you don't have a peach you're about to be voted off the island. (you big weirdo) And then I buy peaches, and be underwhelmed and puzzled (why do I keep trying these?) and lemming-ing right along.

Dang.

I started riding my bike to work this week. Four miles there, four miles back. This has been grand, and surprising. Getting ready in the morning is different- tight shorts at six AM are just OK. A neon yellow mesh vest and a bike helmet. These things can be challenging to my vain-ish self. And people, in cars, and when I get to work, might think I look stupid. Or worse, like a show off. Or like I'm not going fast enough, or like I'm some sort of imposter, not a real cyclist. And that I'm doing it wrong. Trying too hard.

I bought lights and road tires for my bike months and months ago. I was so excited to ride my bike to work. And then I chickened out. Why? Because I was scared of what people would think.

And, really. That isn't me, right? I'm cool and hip. Certainly not worried about what other people think. Certainly not.

Well, that's a big fat lie. I worry what people think. A LOT. I think that's a top twenty reason why I drank: I knew I was A-) worrying about what people thought so then B-) trying to be what people would like and C-) sad that I never felt like me. It's kind of like my life was a glass slipper, and I was trying to squeeze my Cinderella self on in, except I was a lesser well known stepsister who didn't really even like slippers.

My bike rides have given me a whole new perspective. It's MY ride to and from work. So if someone looks and sees me and thinks I'm dorky in my vest, or not pedaling fast enough or working hard enough, or trying to be something I'm not.....well then. So be it. I just pedal and smile and say to myself "My ride. My life. My ride. My life."

Do you ever notice that you are so so hard on yourself, and that you think that other people are always doing it right and you are always doing it wrong? Me too! Me too!

I put a load of energy into trying to figure out how to be what everyone else liked that sometimes I didn't really know what I liked! I tried for years and years to be "other people cool" and that was exhausting.  And (surprise, surprise) I'm a lot more at ease when I'm just being me. Liking what I like.

I just finished reading "Happier at Home". The author has commandments for herself. The most important one is "Be Gretchen". I am totally stealing this. Except for the Gretchen part. I've started, when I'm faced with a choice, or I'm doing a thing, I say in my head "Be Amy". (breathe) "Be Amy".

And, no thank you, about the peaches. But if you like them, go ahead.

Trusting the Universe

Or the title could be: How I Stopped White Knuckling It and Started Letting Go. Having faith that whatever happens happens. Not in the "it is what is is" way (which I hate) but more in the "What will be will be" one. Que sera sera. In the I can't control it but I'm OK with it way. Not in the nothing I can do anyway so who cares way. But with some control included. See?

Sometimes I am grasping at everything: concentrating on how life isn't what I want it to be rather than making it what I want it to be. Be a better runner? Then run. Be in better shape? Then don't eat dessert twice every night sometimes twice a day a week. Be a better mom? Then pay a-fucking-ttention to what's going on and stop checking the computer. Clean house? Take an hour or two and just do it. Plant the garden? Plant it then!

I have a habit of wanting things, and then waiting for someone else to do them,. And then getting mad when they don't get done. Lord, help me.

Or the subtitle could be: Getting/Giving Up Control. I have another habit: Giving things up. Now that I've finally given up booze forevah I have other stuff to take care of. I never drank coffee before when I was hungover a few/several/every day a week. It made me nervous and sickish, and I already felt bad enough without the cursed thought patrol coursing at ninety miles an hours through my head. So I would just chug water and ibuprofen and wait for 5 o'clock somewhere.

Then sobriety arrived (hello there and welcome, and thank you sweet baby jesus) and I started drinking coffee. It was innocent at first: just a cup in the morning while I wrote my blog. Then another a little bit after I got to work. Then another before I left work. Then maybe another after I got home before I walked over to get my oldest at school. And then all these cups became necessity not luxury. And suddenly I was pissed off every evening, gritting my teeth through bath time and stories please please please is it time for fucking bed yet? And I was waking up at 2:30 in the morning mind racing unable to get back to sleep. (and when you get up at 4 or 4:30 what's the point?)

So, sadly, coffee and I aren't meant to be either. It would have been much cooler if we were, but getting sober isn't just about giving up booze. It's also about learning what works now that I am coherent enough to identify what does and what doesn't. Learning myself. Getting comfortable. Being mostly happy, or at the least content-ish. Which means I'll be experimenting with things. Like giving up coffee.(yes, this obviously works- I feel mucho better-o today (day 4)) Or running more. Running longer distances slower, running short distances faster. Giving up things like cheesecake and cookies and having things like dark chocolate or a little maple syrup in my oatmeal. Because those things make me feel better in my head for a long time, while eight cookies makes me feel better until the last crumb goes down and then I regret them all immediately. Which might make me reach for a couple more cookies. So giving that stuff up gets me some control. And with that control comes peace. Peace in my mind.

Which is my new prayer. I am not spectacularly religious, but I do believe in prayer. And so my new prayer goes like this: "Please help me do the things that make me happy and give me peace." I'm relaxing my knuckles by gaining some control. Giving myself permission to do whatever I want makes me unhappy. Just because I stopped drinking it doesn't make it OK for me to keep passing my stopping points. That just starts the rounds of bad how-could-yous that I've given up. So being sober is all about not drinking, but also all about not behaving like an       -aholic. Whether that includes cookie-aholic or coffee-aholic or giving things up-aholic. Setting some damn limits around here. Like I'm five years old and don't know any better. Parenting myself. Teaching myself.

And trusting that the universe is listening. And that maybe, just maybe, I'm listening too.

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.

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!

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."

Middle of the Road

Ahhhh, life and curveballs. Just when I start cruising along feeling all in charge...zing! And me, being me, I get all wound up and start thinking and trying to manipulate things into the way I think they should go and waking up in the middle of the night just so I can think some more.

Yesterday I had a lovely walk and talk with a friend who is also a manager at the company where I work. She's suggested I apply to be her right hand woman, although I have no experience with her department and she's having a baby in six months so I would be in charge of things at the busiest time of the year. The challenge would be amazing, and hard, and the schedule totally does not work for my family. Seeing as how I want to be part of it. 

Taking this position would also mean I wouldn't go back to school. Which I still may not do anyway. Trying to decide on what I want to be when I grow up is a complicated tangle. 

Yesterday I was feeling anxious about the talk, and then we had it, and then I came home and ate all the rest of the children's Valentine's candy. Well, not all, I did leave them both one piece. And they didn't know about the two caramels in the mailbox from a neighbor. And then I broke off a chunk of the candy bar husband bought me (My favorite 85% kind- the kind that is so NOT the" I'm stewing on something and need to feed the beast" kind.) and ate that. All while I was making dinner. 

I should have stopped, and fixed myself a nice ginger seltzer. I should have sat down on the couch for a minute and said a real hello to the kiddos. Taken a breath. 

Not built in a day.

One of the cool things about early sobriety is that you start to realize that things take time. And that THAT'S OK. And that eating nine pieces of chocolate may not be the smartest thing to do, but it won't make me black out or feel like a miserable wreck all the next day. It did make my eight year old cry when I fessed up (I didn't tell the four year old- I'm not completely nuts) but he forgave me. "It was my candy Mom. MINE. And YOU ATE IT. But, if you let me use my Nexus before bed I'll forgive you." And then we played Crazy Eights, and read stories, and life rolled along. And I was forgiven.

Sometimes you have to forgive yourself when you don't know the answer. When you don't know which way to turn. When that road looks good, but this path is cool too....and look there! Sometimes maybe I just need to sit down in the middle of the road and look around. People will beep, wag fingers, yell at me to move. Oh, people. Always trying to tell people what to do. 

I will make myself a ginger seltzer. Sit down. Take a breath. Think it through. Put on a seatbelt and a turn signal when the time is right. Press the gas and move when it feels right. Move right along. 

Gobstopper Days

My dear pen pal/sober blogess extraordinaire Belle posted about being curious about who's hanging about reading her site, days sober, and quit dates. Well, I had to pull up the calculator (which either says "Wow, you've been sober for a long time" or "It's hard to add 25 + 33 at six in the morning"...) I always remember that I have twenty one days in December. Except I have twenty-FIVE days in December. Please pass the coffee.

That's a grand total of 58 days. Did you hear a little pat pat pat? That was me, gently patting myself on the back. Almost two months. How about that. *crooked little smile*

I am floored by this- but not because I feel like "Whoa! That's such a long time." More like "Really? That's it?" I feel like I've lived a year in these past almost two months. That's what happens when you remember your life I guess. It seems longer because it is longer. There aren't these giant holes of hours where you've been living, but in a vacancy. The days stretch and last in good ways and bad. I know what happened last night every morning. I'm living, and not drowning. Everlasting.

Say What?

"'Motherfuck-itude' and 'motherfuckery' is 

about quitting your bitching, getting out of 

your own ego, and getting to work."

I read this and wanted to immediately print it out and tack it to the wall above the desk. And then live by it every single mother fucking day. I'll have to memorize it since it's probably not appropriate for an eight and a four year old to get their minds on. "Mommy? What's a 'mother fucker'?" I think the word 'ego' is a much dirtier one. But the bad word police didn't ask me. 

I've been wallowing a lot since the Girl Scout cookies arrived. Eating them with total abandon. Alcoholic abandon. "Hi, my name is Amy and I'm a Girl Scout cookie-a-holic." Really it's more like this: "Hi, my name is Amy and I'm a give-myself-permission-to-do-whatever-I-want-even-if-it-makes-me-miserable-and-I-know-it-will-a-holic". Phew. Say that ten times fast.

I have not enjoyed revisiting the place where I say "Fuck it!" and then beat myself up for it, and then do it again! I have gone backwards in the past week. And I don't dig it one single bit. I've been living unintentionally. Not having any direction, or purpose. Flailing about not concentrating on anything, doing a little of everything, accomplishing nothing. It has sucked. 

I hate this feeling that I'm being dragged along while the crazy person makes all the decisions. It's like when you were little and someone tickled you until you were laugh-screeching for mercy. You loved it, it was so funny, but it was awful because you couldn't escape or breathe. 

I'm learning that I like structure. A lot. That I like telling myself "NO!". It works for me. The easy choice isn't always so easy. Yes, I can cram cookies down my throat while sitting on the computer instead of paying attention to my children and doing a load of laundry. That seems delightful and easy. But then. My face breaks out from the sugar. The children gallop around the house, wanting to be noticed. No one has anything to wear. I feel fat. Easy's not so easy anymore. Fat, yelling, and zitty in dirty jeans: not so delightful. 

I did better yesterday. And then, like magic, this quote appeared this morning. 

And I mother fucking love it. 

p.s. Here's the article if you want to read it.

No Joke

I've been sort of stuck lately. I was chalking it up to having the flu and the cold medicine. Today is the first day in over a week that I've been up at my "regular" time. I am bad a interrupted routines. I'm worse at getting squirreled away into my own head and starting the call to war. "Time to worry...you suck...time to worry...you suck...you're not doing it right...not doing it right..."

It's weird, but now that I'm all in with my sobriety, to me too far to go back now, I think my brain needs something to obsess about. And since I'm going to be finished with this fucking Whole30 (thank you sweet baby Jesus made from a biscuit) on Thursday I feel like my poor self is a little lost. What will I worry over? What makes me working on myself? What makes me special?

I am always starting some new restrictive "diet" or plan. (husband can tell you that) For example: no gluten, or no dairy. Or vegan, or paleo. Macrobiotics. The lists are endless, and the information is too. Today: eat grains. Tomorrow: grains are horrible for you. I have no food allergies. I am often jealous of people who can just eat and not wonder where the meat was raised, or who go to the grocery and pick up a pepper and not check the sticker to make sure it's organic, or look around for local produce. Who just use the creamer that is right there in their coffee instead of always asking for something other than dairy or soy, and then being a little annoyed since it's the regular almond milk not unsweetened. Is it being conscious or crazy? I get a little sick of myself.

People have always thought I ate weird stuff. It's my "thing". You know how we all have one. Like: He only wears flip flops. Even in the winter. Or: She only writes with blue ink. Or: He only wears black t-shirts and jeans. Something that's your "signature move". I have one neighbor that gets it. Everyone else stuffs their children full of Goldfish and candy and looks at me like I have three heads. What will I do when I have no food stuff to fret over? Start wearing black turtlenecks every day?

Because I've decided (gasp!) to give it a rest for a while after this is over. Quitting drinking and starting the Whole30 (two weeks later, what was I thinking? Oh, yeah. I ate fourteen thousand Christmas cookies) taught me something very important. I really don't want to shift my bad relationship with alcohol over to the way I eat. And I want to be aware of my food choices, but not every moment of every day.

But even deeper than that, I don't want to get into attaching myself to another "cause" that prevents me from seeing life day to day. I don't want to hide behind the curtain of another better-me scenario. I think that keeps me from dealing or not dealing with the minutiae. That whole seeing the forest for the trees.

Getting sober and staying sober has been such a gigantic release of distress. I picture myself opening my mouth wide and thousands of birds flying out- an avian worry spew breaking away from me. Every bird a voice that gave me permission to keep lying. But then I get afraid to live inside out and so I flutter my hands around trying to stop them, trying to keep them in. Trying to put myself back in the cage I've always been living in. Back where it's safe.

It's a scary prospect for me: to just live. To take each day as it comes, with no death grip hands on the wheel  muscling it this way and that. Instead to sit back, and enjoy the ride. Giving up control is no joke. But missing out on the nuances of life because I'm too busy trying to make it what I *think* it needs to be isn't so funny either.


p.s. I found the picture after I had the thought about the birds. I love the internet.