I’m sitting in a booth at Hole n’ the Wall and my fingers are wrapped around a cold glass of Lone Star poured from a pitcher. A stoned country musician stands on the stage and sings songs about whiskey, and zombies, and love. As I drink my beer, the first sip of alcohol I’ve had in 29 days, I feel a little silly because my smile is so big. The people sitting behind me probably think I just turned 21.
Earlier this evening I convinced my boyfriend, Joe, to accept that I wouldn’t be going the entire month of no drinking as originally planned. The night before I tried to bribe him with sushi: I’d take him out if he wouldn’t make me feel like I had failed for drinking 3 days early. He refused. Which is pretty amazing because Joe loves sushi. Especially free sushi. But he just wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t be disappointed in myself.
But tonight, in an attempt to help him trust that I wouldn’t regret my decision, I explained all of my reasons why. The month time limit is arbitrary. Work was rough. 29 days is so long for me that it doesn’t stand much different than 31 in my eyes. And what if I had decided to go the month of February, which only has 28 days? And, the first of February falls on a Monday and we have to go to goddamn work on Tuesday morning, leaving us little freedom to celebrate.
I went on to say that I wouldn’t be disappointed in myself because I am already so proud of myself for having gone this long–the longest I can remember. Then I offered to buy him free quesadillas. I guess there is just something about melted cheese.
Drinking these glasses of Lone Star, I feel relaxed. Happy. Subtly excited about nothing specific other than life itself. This sounds like the opposite of my previous entry, in which I was charged with excitement to be searching for that youthful ability to find joy in the simplicity around me.
But I’ve learned a lot during my sober nights spent with coffee and tea. I realized it is good to take a break from that selfish friend alcohol. But you can’t completely forbid yourself from something if you truly, really, absolutely want to have it. If you do, you’ll just want it more.
In all seriousness, life is strange. And, for me, sometimes, alcohol makes it less so. We are here for a long, long time and we’re never told why. I am still trying to figure out what I am going to do with myself. Several weeks into not drinking, I had such a clear mind, a mind that had much too much time and space and initiative to ponder the things in life that are most confusing. I really felt like I was beginning to go crazy.
And though I did have some fun and was able to go out and laugh during my sober Friday and Saturday nights, most of the time I became tired and wanted to go home early. I felt too grown up. Too well behaved. Too safe.
My final consensus is that I’m too young to not drink. Because, we all know it’s true, alcohol makes things fun, it makes the time pass, and it distracts you from overwhelming thoughts. In the end, alcohol is awesome. In some sort of moderation, because I learned that this is also important.
Driving down the Drag toward Hole tonight, Joe and I were surrounded by our previous UT life. Beautiful buildings of knowledge on the right and students everywhere in between. The music playing on the car stereo was from a time even further back. Oasis sang to us about being yourself. Not being anybody else. I looked at Joe and said, “I am somebody who drinks.” He said, “You are,” with an accepting and pleased smile.
And that’s okay. I’m not going to pretend that I’d rather be sipping on green tinted water.
