Alcohol, my permanent accessory...
I like a drink. Hey, let's not be coy. I like a few. A lot. Too many. I'm not an alcoholic, I should make that clear, but I do drink too much. Way too much.
I should quantify that I suppose. It's not that I drink vast amounts; although it has been known. It's not even that I drink all the time; although days with alcohol in any given week will generally outweigh those without. But I drink too much for me.
I don't mean “I exceed the government guidelines of 14-15 units per week”. Although, clearly, I do. I mean: I'm starting to recognise my own personal limits, and there's no doubt that I'm exceeding those. And I don't like what it does to me.
I'm sure if I were to have my liver sliced up and analysed, it wouldn't be pretty. I know my skin isn't at its best. I'm dehydrated, generally, and I struggle to lose weight. All of these things are true. But they're not what's really bothering me. No picnic, granted, but not my major bugbear. No; what I don't like about drinking is who it makes me.
Generally, I'm a pretty genial drunk. Funny, relaxed, witty, honest, friendly and a little risque. (Or at least that's how it seems from the bottom of the bottle). I'm not often morose, or aggressive, or obstreperous. But I lose part of me too when I drink. I lose the ambitious, focussed, sensible part of me. I know that sounds rather boring and middle aged, but there's part of me now that doesn't mind that so much. Presumably the same part that now refuses to lie about her profession to insurance companies. I lose perspective. Not all sense of decorum, but certainly a smidgin, or more, of what my sober self knows to be “the right thing to do”. If a fool decides his scruples in a time of crisis (Aristotle?), it's an absolute moron who does so in a time of inebriation.
Take smoking. I don't like smoking. It tastes horrible, it smells horrible, it looks horrible. It's expensive. And deadly. All in all, it's bloody stupid. But, when I've had a few drinks, and all the cool kids are doing it, it suddenly becomes A Really Good Idea™. It is not. The same goes for the One Last Drink. Sober, I find it perfectly simple to say “I'm only going to have a glass or two”. Drunk, that becomes “Oh, yeah, I'd love another one, and hey, why not throw in a Jager chaser?!”. No good can come of this. Similarly, food – a sober resolution to eat more healthily and shift a few pounds too quickly becomes “I'm starving, and I can't be arsed to cook. Let's get some chips”. And let's not even mention the early morning run or career-enhancing dance class.
So, here's the thing. I'm coming off the sauce for a bit. I'm not going to pretend it's going to be easy – it certainly won't. I like drinking. And not because I like being drunk – I've never been one to drink to get drunk. But I enjoy drink. Good wine, chewy beer, prosecco, Hendricks gin – I love it all. And there's only so much lime soda a girl can take in an evening.
But I'm acutely aware that recently I've been drinking for quite the wrong reasons. I'm not quite 'drinking to forget', but I would go so far as to say I'm certainly drinking not to think. Which isn't healthy, to say the least.
I don't expect to become saintly, miraculously cured of all my failings, universally loved and without fault. But I do expect to be fitter, healthier, more productive and – in the long run – happier.
song credit to the fab BNL
xx
I should quantify that I suppose. It's not that I drink vast amounts; although it has been known. It's not even that I drink all the time; although days with alcohol in any given week will generally outweigh those without. But I drink too much for me.
I don't mean “I exceed the government guidelines of 14-15 units per week”. Although, clearly, I do. I mean: I'm starting to recognise my own personal limits, and there's no doubt that I'm exceeding those. And I don't like what it does to me.
I'm sure if I were to have my liver sliced up and analysed, it wouldn't be pretty. I know my skin isn't at its best. I'm dehydrated, generally, and I struggle to lose weight. All of these things are true. But they're not what's really bothering me. No picnic, granted, but not my major bugbear. No; what I don't like about drinking is who it makes me.
Generally, I'm a pretty genial drunk. Funny, relaxed, witty, honest, friendly and a little risque. (Or at least that's how it seems from the bottom of the bottle). I'm not often morose, or aggressive, or obstreperous. But I lose part of me too when I drink. I lose the ambitious, focussed, sensible part of me. I know that sounds rather boring and middle aged, but there's part of me now that doesn't mind that so much. Presumably the same part that now refuses to lie about her profession to insurance companies. I lose perspective. Not all sense of decorum, but certainly a smidgin, or more, of what my sober self knows to be “the right thing to do”. If a fool decides his scruples in a time of crisis (Aristotle?), it's an absolute moron who does so in a time of inebriation.
Take smoking. I don't like smoking. It tastes horrible, it smells horrible, it looks horrible. It's expensive. And deadly. All in all, it's bloody stupid. But, when I've had a few drinks, and all the cool kids are doing it, it suddenly becomes A Really Good Idea™. It is not. The same goes for the One Last Drink. Sober, I find it perfectly simple to say “I'm only going to have a glass or two”. Drunk, that becomes “Oh, yeah, I'd love another one, and hey, why not throw in a Jager chaser?!”. No good can come of this. Similarly, food – a sober resolution to eat more healthily and shift a few pounds too quickly becomes “I'm starving, and I can't be arsed to cook. Let's get some chips”. And let's not even mention the early morning run or career-enhancing dance class.
So, here's the thing. I'm coming off the sauce for a bit. I'm not going to pretend it's going to be easy – it certainly won't. I like drinking. And not because I like being drunk – I've never been one to drink to get drunk. But I enjoy drink. Good wine, chewy beer, prosecco, Hendricks gin – I love it all. And there's only so much lime soda a girl can take in an evening.
But I'm acutely aware that recently I've been drinking for quite the wrong reasons. I'm not quite 'drinking to forget', but I would go so far as to say I'm certainly drinking not to think. Which isn't healthy, to say the least.
I don't expect to become saintly, miraculously cured of all my failings, universally loved and without fault. But I do expect to be fitter, healthier, more productive and – in the long run – happier.
song credit to the fab BNL
xx
posted by Tegwen at 15:48
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