A few weeks ago I posted about quitting drinking for a while. That was on my 30th day sober.
I didn’t mention it then, but my intent was to stop for 40 days, a good Lenten period. At my new-agey church, they say the number 40 is “a symbol of completion.” Good enough for me.
About day 34, the desire to drink at all left me completely. It just didn’t seem that attractive a proposition. On day 39, I went to my boss’s Christmas party with the open bar, and I was not tempted.
I drank two lovely glasses of club soda with lime. I ended up in the kitchen, comparing cooking notes with the caterer. Never let it be said that I don’t know how to work a room.
On day 40, I had a drink. I almost felt like I had to. The experiment was complete. I fished the gin out from the freezer and poured myself a Tanqueray and tonic with lime. Sipped. It still tasted as wonderful as ever, crisp, refreshing, bubbly, with that juniper snap that seems like Christmas and summertime all rolled into one.
Twenty minutes later I was sitting in my chair in misery. Not emotional misery. I had no problem with myself for taking that drink. I was in physical misery.
People, I think I broke my drunk.
I felt awful, kind of poisoned and heavy. I sat there, almost in disbelief. I did not expect this outsome at all. I may have left the world of alcohol forever without meaning to.
It was like tearing up your library card in a fit of rage and finding out you can never get another library card.
I was really, really ill for quite a few hours. It inspired me to drink again the way a bad burrito will inspire you to go back to that same food truck – which is to say not at all.
So. Here we are. Day 49 if you don’t count the day I drank. Day 9 in AA terms. Whatever. Living in the land of the sober, maybe for good.