Wow. I REALLY hate being an Alcoholic today.

Alright, I know I'm a drunk. My body doesn't respond to alcohol the same way a "normal drinker's" would, and because of that I CANNOT DRINK SAFELY. Horrible, wiley, petulant things just happen to me when I'm drinking, and so I cannot. Can't be done. Tried that, didn't work. So why, why, oh sweet jesus, why am I STILL longing to be able to stuff my face with shots at Happy Hour with my Bosses?

Because I am a freaking Alcoholic and part of that is craving something I can never imbibe again. Although last night, I seriously considered cashing in my 1 year and some month chips for a one day coin that I could collect with my shiny happy hangover at a later date.

I DID go out with some workfolk last night and while the night in itself was unremarkable, the spiritual hangover I have this morning is threatening to derail the little bit of sober sanity I've put together. I usually bristle at meetings when oldtime AA's decribe our sort as "crazy" or "insane" but today, I know exactly what they mean. Only a truly batshit crazy woman would come out of the kind of alcoholic wreckage that I have and consider going back for any reason. And the reasons I want to go back are ill advised at best.

I miss drama. I miss self destructive flings that hurt more than they please. I miss hotel rooms with crisp white sheets and married men between them. I miss fuck me heels and smeared mascara. I miss whiskey breath. I miss beer tears. I miss the miserable and cocky little girl that I was, and I'm afraid of the women I'm growing into. I am freaking grieving for my drunkeness like I've just lost a parent. Probably more since neither of my parents are really that stellar about showing up when their needed. But you know who has ALWAYS been there for me? Jamesons! And now I've divorced him and I can't help but wonder if it wasn't a horrible, horrible mistake.

You know transformation is such a terribly long and tricky process that it's no wonder I'm feeling lost in the shuffle right about now. Some years back I lost 60 pounds. I think it took two years when all was said and done. But there would frequently come times when after a 3 pound weight loss that I HAD FOUGHT FOR, I'd look at my new body and think, "What the hell good has that done me?" My knockers were limp, my stomach gathered in these weird ruffles above my brazillian. It wasn't a linear process, is what I'm saying, and I spent more time in between sizes, swimming in ill fitting clothes than I did prancing around in tiny bikini's.

But now, years later when I've been an enviable size and shape for quite some time, I hardly ever think back to that long, protracted era of EXTREME PHYSICAL DISCOMFORT. I only reap the benefits. I feel like this is what's going on in my sobriety right now. I'm too far into my transformation to turn around, and I'm not far enough to see the light at the end of this fucking birth canal.

So, uhh, yeah, day 8 of the detox is clearly bringing some repressed emotions front and center. *grins sheepishly*

It's all good. I'm off to catch a meeting and share my little irish ass off. Good luck and God speed friends.

-I