I’m not drinking.
Well, I’m not drinking adult beverages, wine, beer, those so pretty margaritas (rocks no salt), Tullamore Dew neat, nor a very veggie Bloody Mary, no.
And mind you it bothers me because I liked it. I like sitting at a bar. I like chatting. I like to listen to ice and liquid be thrown together in such violence that the two vessels must be knocked against the counter to unseal them.. .then the slosh in the pour, the funny thing with the slinky around the edge when the cocktail is served ,as my dad said, “A twist, Up!”
He drank. He drank too much. He got sober. I went to the ‘other’ meetings.
And now I’m not drinking. I live in Austin, a very booze-casual town. Yes, I do think of Austin, TX as a big town still. I’ve lived here 13 years or so, and I’ve seen the old be torn down for new . .progress some call it. I’ve seen the push of density and the sprawl. You could say I’m benefitting from sprawl for the house I moved to on March 21st is new, expansive, and nothing like I would have ever thought I’d live in. But here I am. On what is now the east edge of Austin near the airport surrounded, mostly, by trees. And I’m not drinking.
I have water by the gallons and a Mexican Perrier, aka Topo Chico. I love Topo. I can get one when I go out, and feel almost adult. Ok so I’m 57 and adult has been my adjective almost 40 years. I like a nice Arnold Palmer and I like ordering them because it reminds me of my dad and I’m pretty sure Arnie had his tea/lemonaide with something to stiffen the ice. I digress.
I’m not drinking. For three reasons: my pancreas acted up, my liver has cysts, and I was talking Tylenol. Here’s the thing: I was stupid. (Yes! My darling grandson, Grammi knows stupid is a bad word). A kinder way of saying it would be, I was distracted. I didn’t pay attention.
I live with neuralgia, left over from chemo. And then I had to distance myself from my only child. . .so, depression/anxiety rears it’s head and then. . . well. . . sure let’s sell the house . . . sure, ok, I’ll stay in Texas.
And I”m not drinking. And it bothers me that it bothers me. I like that I’ve lost 12 pounds by not drinking. I like that I feel better. But it’s a gut thing. No booze and low fats. No queso and cerveza. No Zin in a stemmed glass. Nope. Not for now.
Whining completed. Onward.