Days of Sobriety: 333 (that's gotta be a lucky number)
This is going on record as being the shortest blog in the history of this blog. I think. I don't have enough time to go back and check because I'm scrambling about getting ready to take my grandson out of town to shop for school clothes and make on last big splash in a hotel swimming pool before school starts.
I did make time to go for a walk this morning, the weather has cooled off and it's lying to me and telling me that autumn is already here. I walked past my old high school, it has been boarded up for years and is an eyesore that the town can't figure out what to do with, there is too much asbestos in it to tear it down. Out front is a stump of an old tree and I remember being down on all fours retching under that tree. It was after my first high school dance and I was 15. In the midst of my bilious soliloquy, I noticed a pair of black shiny shoes planted in front of me, and my eyes traveled up a blue uniformed figure to squint into the disgusted eyes of our town's own version of Andy Griffith, his shiny black shoes now spattered with the cherry vodka streaked contents of my stomach.
Now flash forward 34 years and I am once again on all fours retching but this time the figure hovering over me is the cap'n and his eyes are worried and tired as he tries to hand me a cold washcloth. Once again, there are cherry colored streaks in my heaved up stomach contents but this time they are probably the results of a Mallary-Weiss laceration (forgive me for playing nurse) from my violent persistent vomiting. The vodka I drank this time wasn't cherry flavored and I only drank it because I had run out of bourbon and rum.
Really? This acrid, damaging, masochistic relationship with alcohol is what I worked so hard at to maintain? And it had such a fortuitous beginning, ha. Talk about Fifty Shades of Gray
I have three words to the commenters over on "Crying Out Now" this morning who are so scared, as I was, to let this relationship go:
GET A LIFE!
Okay, four words:
NOW!
Yet another story I could have told about myself! Except the blue uniformed officer would have been the corduroy/sweatered chaperone, who, himself was a parent of a student in attendance to the school dance,, who,, you guessed it, was my date. The funny part is , he was not permitted to see me anymore, yet is was he who always got us the booze and who did other drugs that I wasn't doing (yet). You gotta love parents like that. I mean, it couldn't be their relationship (lack of) with their child, or dare I suggest, kids being kids. No, it MUST be those awful influencing peers...
ReplyDeleteOn a separate note, and I may have missed it somewhere as I am new to your blog, but when may we discuss 50 Shades of Gray. I stepped WAY out of the box when I grabbed this little read at walmart last month. I must be "in the know", don't ya know. I'm laughing at myself, though, because having just completed graduate school, I have only been reading academic books for the last few years.
This is not an academic read . . . . :@/
Enjoy time with granchild. HOW I WISH I HAD ONE OR TWO, OR A DOZEN
I was always so neat with my boozy vomiting, hair pulled back .. nice and neat over the toilet bowl. But oh so sick. I have two single mismatched earrings in a box in my drawer, the matching one of each pair lost down the bowl on separate binging vomiting nights. I keep their sad and lonely leftover pairs as a reminder. xxxxx
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