I’m not sure if I’d describe it as mourning, but there is definitely something missing by not drinking.
Yesterday (if I hadn’t been working), I would have been at a bar with friends, watching the Bears lose, eating chicken wings and drinking beer. During the day. On a Sunday. And it probably would have been great.
When friends came by the house Saturday night to eat my boyfriend’s delicious homemade pizzas, they enjoyed alcoholic beverages while I sat with a root beer, watching as they slowly transitioned into sillier, more giddy filled non-sensical conversations. It’s not that I didn’t have a good time. I just wished I could be there with them in that buzz.
Last night we drove by an old wine bar I used to go to on occasion, and I sighed, thinking how great it would be to sit on on a patio sipping on a flight.
No more brunch cocktail, game day pitcher, craft cocktail for no reason, slow burning nightcap.
My entire social life was built around drinking. For well over a decade, interactions have been influenced by a few beers or a few glasses of wine or a few gin and sodas. Sure, not all of them ended well. And a lot of them ended even less well the next morning.
There is a very noticeable awareness I have now about how I feel and what I say and do. Gone are the blurred, feathery edges of memories and dulled sensations.
So maybe it’s simply the inability to do it that’s getting to me. The letting go. The giving in to a little bit of irresponsibility. The losing control.
Because having A glass of wine or drinking One beer is not what I’m looking for.