Day 353 of Sobriety
Warning! If you are early in your sobriety, maybe you should not read this blog today.
I am sitting here on this Friday night waiting for the cap'n to get here. We have been apart for almost three months, except for one conjugal weekend, and tomorrow we are headed home to Colorado for the Labor Day weekend.
I am sitting here having wistful thoughts. I am thinking, if I were still drinking, I'd be soaking in a bubble bath with a cold glass of pinot grigio, or better yet, a strong Jack Daniels and diet Pepsi and I'd be bubbling over with anticipation at the thought of seeing the cap'n and the weekend in front of us.
If I were still drinking, I'd have fresh drinks in hand when the cap'n pulled up to the curb and we'd go sit out on the back step of this shitty little apartment and we'd watch the blue moon come up and we'd talk and talk and talk about our summer and our plans for Mexico. We'd refill our glasses and we'd put on some music, probably some John Denver, and we'd dream and laugh and probably dance a little under that blue moon.
If I were still drinking, we'd get up in the morning, we'd most assuredly be hungover, but we'd have a bloody Mary or a glass of wine and we'd head to Colorado where we would spend the days drinking cold beer on the deck, or fixing hearty pots of chili or stew while sipping red wine, and we'd build a big fire in the pit every night and sit out and watch the stars come out. And we'd drink, and sing, and laugh and dream some more.
Now this is the part where I'm supposed to tell you that I can still do all that without drinking and it will still be as much fun, but we all know that is so much bullshit. The cold hard fact is that somethings are not as much fun without alcohol. Whether it's "real" fun or whether it's as "meaningful" doesn't matter a tinker's dam, it's not the same.
I miss that fun.
Tonight all the sad truths I know about me and drinking are little comfort and all the blessings I've been granted in my sobriety seem a little pale in the light of that big blue moon, but they are enough. And even though part of me wants to play Russian roulette with the bottle again, I won't.
Because I know if I were still drinking, that sooner or later that bullet would click into the intended chamber and I would finally have to pay the penalty for playing.
And I still want to see what's waiting for me down this road I've chosen.
But once in a Blue Moon, I still miss it.