Oh the drunken daze. I mean days.
Yesterday, or better yet, yesternight, was eerily reminiscent of high school, only in the alcoholism of it.
I stopped drinking on April 27th, 1994. Things had gone too far. I'd gotten so drunk that evening, that I'd puked in the bedroom of the five-year-old-son of the guy who threw the party. Two puke incidents in one month, added to the fact that I was getting tired of not remembering any of my weekends (or most evenings), meant major cold-turkey-ness.
This was about a month before I started dating my husband. I went straight-edge shortly after that...
And then in France, miles away from everything that had ever hurt me or pushed me over the brink, including my husband, subjected to free wine-and-cheeses every other evening... I gritted my teeth and told myself that I was a big girl now. I could try alcohol, and see if I could handle it.
I did. I didn't get drunk the first few weeks, and those weeks where I did drink a lot, there was nothing disastrous or excessive about it. I started experimenting with drugs again, to wondrous results.
I was out of the hole.
I started smoking again (oooh, bad move, but it was a symbol of freedom to me because my husband hated it so much), started drinking coffee again (was there ever a more wondrous substance?) and started living down the middle road, again.
Not that the middle road means anything I'll ever do will be moderate, but... It's a good place to start from, if I want to understand the whys and why nots and "am I hurting anyones" of what I'm doing.
So yesteday's haze frightened me a little bit with the out-of-controllness of it. Coupled with Toshiro's timely alcohol reminiscences (I seriously admire your determination, my little latin chair-spinning pussycat), the hole I climbed out of so many years ago is gaping at me quite smugly in blatant retrospect this morning.
But it was magical, too. I've surrounded myself these last six months with so many self-induced inhibitions (not something I've ever done before, not in love not in life not in conversationg) that the sheer freeeedom of wandering the street and not giving a flying fuck of who was pointing and laughing at me, the sheer affectionate-ness and unperturbed giggles, the way the whole day just stretched itself out on cotton-candy legs and allowed you to stroke it or nibble it or just glory in the sticky-sweetness of it.
The I-didn't-even-get-to-sleep hangover was definitely worth it.
All yesterday needed was a little less fear of losing control, it most certainly didn't need any bitches but maybe it could've used a few more hugs from you.