Optimistic

Second day.

Tonight I met a friend at the bar and ordered a Diet Coke and a grilled ham and cheese. "You're not drinking?" she asked. "No, I've got this medicine that's messing with my stomach," I answered, and that was that.

Each time the waitress brought a fresh pint to the table, I could feel Self Indulgence rise up and prod me. Looks good, huh? Yep. It's Friday. So it is. But would just an inch or so hurt? Yes, it would. There's no cheating. The Antabuse is really going to help while I develop a defense against self indulgence, my Achilles heel. I don't know how easily those thoughts would have been quelled if I didn't have that to lean on, to be the mental backbone.

And I am trying very hard to note every single positive. How I felt this morning in the shower. Knowing throughout the day that if I yawned it was because I had eaten French bread, not because my sleep was disrupted by alcohol. Driving to the video store after leaving the bar, I realized how freeing it felt to not ask myself whether I was all right to drive. To just get in the car and go without counting drinks.

I leaned in the fridge when I got home and saw our friend had brought over a 12-pack. You're kidding me! He never brings beer, and I'm going to miss out on this? Yes, and you're going to be just fine. You need time under your belt. You are establishing new habits.

So I did the dishes and made some iced tea, ripped a few CDs and made a pot of chai tea. I wended my way around four dogs lying on a dark carpet in a dim room and didn't give it a second thought until just now.