I took a couple classes in high school and college, but I didn't have the time to really study the subject, so I hung out with students who mostly didn't speak "alcohol" until I graduated. Then I had the funds, and more importantly, the time to do an "immersion" in the language and I began to speak it quite "fluidly", so to speak. I held two jobs, one where this was the dominate language, it was a bar my boyfriend opened called The Fur Shop after he found an old neon Fur Shop sign in a warehouse.

Drinking Diaries: I don’t know much about golf but I have heard of the ol“Golfers Handicap” as a technique to level the playing ground for players. This allows those slightly (or even ridiculously) better players to play with those of lesser proficiency on somewhat equal terms.

When did “drinking” become the key to fun? When did we decide if we are going to have a nice time or a nice meal then there would NEED to be alcohol. When we were 7yrs old what did we need to play? When we ate as children were we looking for the glass of wine to compliment our meal, or anything other than what was on our plate? Remember being burdened by having to sit down and eat? Remember playing on a jungle gym, swimming, running around outside and Mom was like “Get in here and EAT!” and all you wanted to do was keep playing? But then, at some point food, became the playing.

it starts in the dark like a blind women feeling her way around an unfamiliar room. Uncertain, afraid, alone. The dark is dark. Attempting to use old sensory tools are ineffective. This territory is new, you are new. nothing is as it was. The only way to step forward is out of desperation. it must be the only option, exhausted other options to exhaustion. adhere to this option like the only oxygen left, otherwise the lights flip back on, the door closes, the well treaded paths reveal themselves instantly and there is a drink in your hand, in your gut, on your breath. it’s back.

Chapter 1 and a half. No one tells the story very loudly. I mean, I never knew the rest of the story or how it unravels, i never watched anyone live a sober life long enough to see the “game changer” shit. So, I feel it could be “of interest” to you or anyone if you are considering putting down the glass for good. Fucking scary, i know, just that “for good” part turned me off so big in the negotiating days. That is the part that puts the deal off …. since it seems so severe and absolute. But, I am here to tell you.

Of course i am different then i was before. i drank to stop worrying about stuff, so now, interestingly, i don’t worry more i just realize what i was worried that i would worry about is nothing to worry about. the ghost under the bed was the cat. the fear was all for not. i had, like, a constant undercurrent of shame just bc at some level i always felt shame for having drank last night.

Slip’n forward, indeed. Whether it “seems” to be going fast or slow, it is definitely ticking away. There is no stopping time, although, sometimes it “seems” like time has stopped for a moment or a “spell” when we are under some sort of spell of time, sometimes euphoric, sometimes horrific.

This, I did. I didn’t know I did it, all the freeeeeaaakken time, but I did it all the time. Time pushing, racing, rushing those sweet little chatters along. “Bye, bye, Yo… I gotta go!” (drink). I didn’t say out loud “Please remove yourself from my presence kind ladies and sirs, you see, I must open a bottle of cheap red wine within the next 20 minutes or something bad will happen to me, or even you”. But I did think it. I wanted my reward for winning, (i.e finishing another day). I wanted my participation metal for showing up.

I WAS WRONG. So many things I believed about myself, turns out I was completely wrong. I BELIEVED These as facts for the past 20 years.

1). I am a bad sleeper, I wake up 6-8 times a night, totally light sleeper and I need to stay in bed 10-12 hours to try to get 6 hours of sleep since I am up so much.

2) I am hot blooded, I am always hot. I can’t wear sweaters and would never sleep in pajamas since I sweat all the time. I burn up even in the winter.

Drinking Diaries: no one can see the conflict, feel it or know it’s there under a skin tight, slightly expensive, tone-showing Saturday night outfit. I would have never suspected a conflict in ME (just looking at me from the outside)… if i didn’t know me, personally or hell, even if I did know me personally, intimately, even. No one sees the conflict that is in there. i can’t see yours either.