Had an odd weekend. My husband was away visiting his side of the family with one of the children. He had a single glass of red wine with supper on Thursday night so there was a corked bottle of red on the kitchen counter for all the time he was away. If it had been calling to me I would have had no compunction in sinking it (in the sink, not in me!) but I have never really drunk red wine in quantity and it was silent. I did however have a fair few thoughts during the day on Saturday of “I could go and buy myself a bottle of my favourite white wine and drink it after the children are in bed, and he wouldn’t know.” They were thoughts though, rather than urges, if that makes any sense? Anyway, I didn’t. 

I had a lot of domestic chores to catch up on over the weekend, so I mostly did that. In addition, my daughter brought home the class toy from her primary school. If you haven’t met this sadistic custom, during the academic year each child is allowed to bring the toy home for one weekend, accompanied by the toy’s diary, which the child has to complete over the course of the weekend, with accompanying photos, ticket stubs etc as appropriate. I think this is supposed to be a reward for good behaviour at school. In reality it is a chance for teachers and other parents to have a good nosy into the lifestyle of the child, and for some serious one-upsmanship on the part of parents who like to play that game. 

I am one of I am sure the majority of parents who fantasise about their child’s entry comprising, “Had fishfingers for tea then watched DVDs while Mum and Dad had a big row then they went to the pub leaving us alone with the alsatians.” Denied this dream I had at least to provide one wholesome-though-not-oneupmanship activity to be duly documented. Bah hambug.

I keep testing it, like pressing on an old bruise, but at the moment I am genuinely not wanting to drink. If you told me this in the first week of sobriety I would have been calling out hallelujahs, so why aren’t I more excited? I have read so many sober blogs which talk about when the first shine fades, and how to move on through that. I always thought that I craved stability and security, but perhaps I was manufacturing excitement for myself by drinking? Read a brilliant blog post (or comment perhaps but didn’t bookmark it so can’t find it – any tips gratefully received) saying that it is not being sober that’s boring, it’s life that is potentially boring, and it is up to us to find ways to jolly it up. 

Oh, and I didn’t run yesterday either. This is not bloody rocket science, is it? Run, you stupid wench.

 

 

 

 

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