Day 10! In marginally horrifying news, I have discovered that my trusty NoMo sobriety chips only turn up every day for the first seven days: after that, it’s a weekly “well done” rather than an every-morning-electronic-woohoo… I’m sure I’ll cope, but I have to confess to missing my 9am “zing” and the accompanying tiny pixels of achievement.
Maybe I should set a recurring alarm on my phone to pop up every day and say “good work, you big old lush” instead. Or instruct B. to wake me up by hitting me on the head with a “congratulations, Boozy McPhee” balloon every morning? Hmmm. Ideas on a postcard, please…
In other news, after a really calm and reflective week off work, I was back to the office today. Mixed feelings all round: I love my work, I enjoy being busy, and I have to admit that today I did relish the opportunity to spend 7 hours completely immersing myself into the challenges of my job rather than thinking about sobriety, reading sober blogs and pondering the intricacies of my relationship with booze. I know that doing the work of becoming sober is as much about dealing with the strange head-mess that leads some of us to over-consume in the first place as it is about just not drinking, and that the self-reflection is vital, but the whole thing is…effort. Thinky, head-hurty, introspectivey effort.
Running meetings and focusing on a project was a great break from the insides of my own skull, anyhoo.
Well, I got to forget about boozing and not boozing for the most part. On the downside, one of the first conversations I walked into was about the drunken exploits of one of my co-workers over the weekend (I am NOT jealous, I am IN CONTROL, damnit!) and one of the next conversations involved skirting around an invitation to a craft Gin festival. “Ooh, uh, I think I’m busy,” I said. “Sounds amazing though, let me check my diary but…uh…yeah…I’ll let you know.” While normal, work me was prevaricating, sober me was dancing an invisible jig and singing “not this girl, you foul temptress, I’m a sober girl now!” and boozy me was rolling her eyes and muttering “just get over yourself and GO, already. Do you really need to go to extremes with this whole sober thing? It’s weeks away. What are the chances of you packing the whole thing in by then, anyway? Pretty high, I reckon.” If you looked closely, I resembled one of those old Tom & Jerry cartoons with the angel and devil on the shoulders, only in better shoes.
I haven’t told work colleagues about the quitting drinking thing yet. It’s been churning around in my head for weeks, months, even, but I’ve kept it to myself and just kept on sharing commiserations with a couple of office partners-in-crime who also have a tendency to turn up for work a little red-rimmed and weary on occasion after overdoing the Pinot. Thank god it’s not a wine-and-dine the clients kind of workplace, or my hand would be forced. As it is…it’s my sober project and it’s none of their business. Yet.
I turned down the Gin festival. I got on with my work. I was Not Hungover.
Steady as she goes, Andie. Steady as she goes.