Dry, still.

2004-07-07 - 7:18 p.m.

A friend recently told me that I ought to cherish my cats because they'll be a lifeline for me one day, and I already know that.

This not drinking thing is getting hard again, it's on my mind a lot. It takes effort...or, rather...it takes a lot of thinking. Constant thinking.

clean2202, in her early days of her diary, talked about a game she played in her head, the "Can I drink if...?" game. I've been playing that a lot. I'd rather be playing Monopoly, and I hate Monopoly.

The latest: "Since I have to work in the morning, I wouldn't be as likely to drink on weeknights, so can I start drinking on the weekends?"

The answer is no, because I have a pretty strong feeling that my early risings would just mean that I start drinking as soon as I get home (to take the edge off the day).

I mean, the answer is always no. Oh, except for the questions like: "If I'm stuck on a desert island and no one's around and the only thing I have with me is a case of whisky and there's no hope of rescue, and I'm near death anyway, can I get wasted?" And even then, the answer should probably be no.

I think it has to do with the reasons I justified drinking to myself. Some of the "Can I drink if...?" questions focus on rewards: "Can I have one drink if I get a novel published?" I couldn't tell you how many times I "rewarded" myself: for getting through a hard day, for going to the gym, for passing a course, for getting a job, for surviving Monday....

I'm not about to drink. The answer still is no. The only time I can think of myself drinking is to hurt myself, if I ever get so angry and if drinking is the best way to draw metaphorical blood, that's when I might break.

So instead, I just get short-tempered and irritable and anxious and whiny and bleagh.

I'll be cheerier tomorrow, though.

Cheers,

The Magus

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