Cutting back a bit.

Last night I wrote this blog post by hand and wasn’t able to type it up until this morning. In other words, this is Saturday’s post and I’ll have another one later today.

A few years ago I wrote a lengthy blog post declaring that I was an alcoholic and that I vowed to give up drinking. I still have that post saved in a file somewhere but when I cleared out this blog a while back it was one of the posts I removed from WordPress (so I won’t link back to that post here). For one thing, I’m embarrassed by how sappy it was. With my state of mind at the time—I’ll get into that in a moment—I was prone to be a bit of a “drama queen” both on this blog and in person. The other reason is that a little over a year I broke sobriety and the post no longer seemed relevent.

I have gone into my reasoning before but I felt that it was worth rehashing, especially as I don’t think I fully explained it before. This subject also came to mind because, as I write this at around seven-thirty at night, I’m still feeling the ill effects of drinking too much of a cheap wine too quickly last night. This morning was hell, and as I was in bed with a massive headache I contemplated going sober again. I actually have a pretty low tolerance for alcohol, so I usually freak out and think this way whenever I have a hangover.

That’s just it—I’m not really that serious a drinker, nor was I before. I don’t usually drink a lot at a time but I will go through long spells of drinking regularly—a beer or two after work but no more than that. I’ve never been a “blackout” drunk. Yet one night I had a breakdown, declared to myself that I had a drinking problem, and stopped for a while.

The truth is that it probably was a good idea that I quit at the time but alcohol wasn’t the root of my problems. Without realizing it I underwent depression for a long time. I don’t know when it started exactly. It had something to do with realizing in my late twenties that I was getting older and my life wasn’t going as planned. I never had a girlfriend, neither my goals of having success as a writer or a musician were coming to fruition, and the possibility of getting a job with my degree was diminishing as I approached thirty. The depression really was spurred however, by the death of my mother earlier in the year that I quit drinking. I felt that I was using alcohol to cope with the grief. I honestly can’t remember if that was true. Nonetheless, my drinking “habit” wasn’t bad enough that I would have to worry about it by itself. Still, it was a good idea that I quit when I did when I was in that state. Who knows how much damage I could have done?

Then I got out of my depression and decided that it was time to allow myself a drink now and then. At the same time I started going through a period of my life that I think I’m still going through. I started working out, recorded three albums for the RPM Challenge and began work on writing projects I consider to be of my best work. I have tried to develop myself more intellectually. I have come to a sort of awakening of myself as a person and what I can do to improve myself.

As a result I have decided to ease off a bit on the alcohol. I think I have gotten a little carried away with it lately. I’m not declaring again that I’m giving it up entirely. But there’s no need to have a beer every night with more on Fridays and Saturdays. I have more to do in order to improve myself physically and tempering my drinking is part of that. Besides,if this turns out to be a difficult thing to do when I could use that as a sign that maybe I do have a problem after all. I ‘ll have to wait and see.

—–

Later in the evening

Because of the way I feel right now I don’t plan to drink tonight. Yet I’m at a bar because somebody I know is having a CD release party here. I ordered a black coffee. The woman behind the br repeated “black coffee” back to me and a server to grab a black coffee from the restaurant upstairs. Still she asked if I wanted cream and sugar. I said no and let it go. When the server brought my coffee to me she said she couldn’t remember if I wanted cream and sugar, so I had to say no again. She still put a spoon next to my coffee. What part of “black coffee” is so hard to understand?

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