Well, never, I guess, if you’ve committed to not drinking any more. But whatever. It’s only a thing if you make it a thing. Stop making it a thing.
Soup for tea, posh soup with coconut and spices in. And garlic and cheese flatbread. And a shipping container-sized portion of chips and houmous. Posh houmous, with chickpeas on top.
Had a good talk with Pat last night, who was being the kind of heartfelt and genuine you only arrive at somewhere after the fourth negroni. Pat had had eight negronis, so was especially heartfelt. I told him how lost I’ve felt of late, how much I’ve been struggling. That I’ve cut out the drink and the drugs (ignore the merlot in my hand at that moment) but it’s only shown me how incapable I am of socialising and enjoying life and taking chances when sober. How I’ve mostly spent this year hidden in my room, or grinding through shifts at work, no way to relate to my colleagues now I don’t go out and booze it up in dive bars after we finish (ignore the merlot etc.). How I have no clue where I’m going or what I’m doing.
He basically told me to relax, to go easy on myself, to shut the hell up. That building a new life takes a long time, you’re laying down a new path, and you lay one pebble at a time, and for a long time to begin with you only feel lost in the wilderness. But keep going, keep laying those pebbles, and the confidence and the success will start to come.
And Christ, the lad looked so sharp in suspenders and tie clip and tie, such a lump of soulful charm on the dancefloor, so in love with Jordan and situated exactly where he needed to be, so happy to be alive, that it was hard to ignore him.
I mean, for about five minutes, and then I went back to worrying that everyone else in the world was splashing in the warm waters of life while I was shivering and scared on the shore unable to leap in… but I guess they had all had substantially more negronis than me. And the essence of what Pat said sunk in, and has stayed with me.
I’ve figured out that I suffer from acute social anxiety that I’ve been masking for a decade and a half with alcohol. And that’s tough. But it’s better to be at the point of acknowledging that, even though it feels worse. I’m not floating out on the waters on a boozy lilo, but realising I can’t swim is the first step to learning.
Err, does that analogy make any sense? It’s the best you’re getting out me today, so you might as well make do.
God, I’m glad I didn’t have any of Pat’s negronis. But I’m also glad I had a Pat. Everyone should have a Pat.
Had a good talk with Pat last night, who was being the kind of heartfelt and genuine you only arrive at somewhere after the fourth negroni. Pat had had eight negronis, so was especially heartfelt. I told him how lost I’ve felt of late, how much I’ve been struggling. That I’ve cut out the drink and the drugs (ignore the merlot in my hand at that moment) but it’s only shown me how incapable I am of socialising and enjoying life and taking chances when sober. How I’ve mostly spent this year hidden in my room, or grinding through shifts at work, no way to relate to my colleagues now I don’t go out and booze it up in dive bars after we finish (ignore the merlot etc.). How I have no clue where I’m going or what I’m doing.
He basically told me to relax, to go easy on myself, to shut the hell up. That building a new life takes a long time, you’re laying down a new path, and you lay one pebble at a time, and for a long time to begin with you only feel lost in the wilderness. But keep going, keep laying those pebbles, and the confidence and the success will start to come.
And Christ, the lad looked so sharp in suspenders and tie clip and tie, such a lump of soulful charm on the dancefloor, so in love with Jordan and situated exactly where he needed to be, so happy to be alive, that it was hard to ignore him.
I mean, for about five minutes, and then I went back to worrying that everyone else in the world was splashing in the warm waters of life while I was shivering and scared on the shore unable to leap in… but I guess they had all had substantially more negronis than me. And the essence of what Pat said sunk in, and has stayed with me.
I’ve figured out that I suffer from acute social anxiety that I’ve been masking for a decade and a half with alcohol. And that’s tough. But it’s better to be at the point of acknowledging that, even though it feels worse. I’m not floating out on the waters on a boozy lilo, but realising I can’t swim is the first step to learning.
Err, does that analogy make any sense? It’s the best you’re getting out me today, so you might as well make do.
God, I’m glad I didn’t have any of Pat’s negronis. But I’m also glad I had a Pat. Everyone should have a Pat.
P.S. I've just realised it's the last day of the month. Balls. I'll do my monthly round-up tomorrow. That's when I always do it. Yu-huh it is. Shhh.
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