Monday, February 3, 2014

A Confession

I have to confess to being triggered yesterday!  Of all days!  Superbowl Sunday hasn't been a drinking day for me in over 20 years.  Sure, in my last couple of drinking years I drank on Superbowl Sunday but hell, I drank EVERY damn DAY then so it was nothing new or special.  Other than that, Superbowl Sunday (even when the Redskins were playing...oh...wait...that's been over 20 years too) hasn't been a real party hardy day for me in a very long time.

But "back in the day" we used to party very hard on this football day of days.  In the beginning we either had a party or went to someone's house where we all sat around and whooped and hollered at the game, laughed at the commercials and drank way too damn much and cried when Whitney Houston sang the Star Spangled Banner.

In later years, we started a HUGE football pool that was $1000 per square.  At first we just paid out the entire lump sum to the winner.  Then we decided to split it up by quarter and take some of the cash to throw at ginormous Superbowl party at a local restaurant for anyone who was in the pool.  Since a lot of people bought squares together, there was usually a pretty big crowd.  Not gonna lie...it definitely made some memories.  As part of the founding group, the hubs and I would get there early with some of our other friends and start the festivities (translation...start drinking before everyone else got there).  Then we would eat and drink and watch the game on a huge screen TV (WAY back before everyone had one).

In a word...it was fun.

But that was a long fucking time ago and I was sick of it 20 years ago!  The hubs and I had kids and after that, we needed to be home on Sunday's to get ready for the next week...Superbowl not withstanding.  In fact, I remember one Superbowl Sunday we spent in the emergency room with a 2 year old Brian who had gotten dehydrated from a stomach virus (thank God I wasn't drinking at home back then).  That was one of the time's I told the doctor he didn't know shit from shineola and followed my own gut instinct...I was right.

But I digress...

So if I was all past the drinking and carousing of Superbowl Sunday, why in the name of fuck's sake was I consistently thinking about those parties and what a cold glass of White Zinfindel would taste like?  White Zin?  Really?  I haven't like pink wine since about 1990!

Hey Sherry...they 80's called, they want their wine back.

ANYWAY...of course I swatted those thoughts away with a smirk, a WTF and a shake of the head.  After all I'm used to them and they don't bother me any more, but whenever they come around I'm left thinking what the hell caused them?

Was I tired?  No.  In fact I was energized from a beautiful day.
Was I depressed?  Nope...I'm medicated for that.
Was I hungry?  Hardly.  It was Superbowl Sunday yo.
Was I angry?  Only at the Broncos...but that doesn't really count since they aren't the Redskins.
Was I lonely?  Nope...even Matt was home for dinner.

Oh well.  I'll just chalk it up to "one of those things".  Like a snap that flies over the head of the quarterback and shifts the mojo of a game in the first three minutes

You know...one of those things.

Namaste

8 comments:

  1. Isn't it funny now that we feel bad if we get pangs like they are a failure and we shouldn't get them any more.. that's just silly.. we are not superhuman and the world is awash with alcohol.. a substance that we don't' touch any more but used to in abundance. We are superwomen, but not immune to the occasional sad thought. But as you say.. they get BATTED away quick smart. xxx

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    1. I know what you mean. I truly do expect them but this one was a surprise! It cracked me up!

      Yes my friend...we are definitely SUPERWOMEN!

      Sherry

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  2. Wtf is right, I was itchy yesterday too and it pissed me off. Don't know why either. Told my husband to get that wine glass out of my sight. We've also had similar medical situations, told a nurse at Children's Hospital not to fuck with a mother, I knew my son was in trouble when they said he was fine!

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    1. So glad you are still going strong even with your hubs still drinking. I know that's hard. I quit smoking while my mom (who lived with us) continued to smoke MY BRAND. But once I've decided to really do something. NOTHING stops me.

      Like deciding that I know better than the docs or nurses. Sometimes a mother's instinct is all you need.

      Sherry

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  3. I find the longer I'm away from the booze the more cunning it gets in trying to wheedle its way back in. It now hits me from left field when I least expect it.

    The other weekend my daughter's boyfriend was up for a meal - my wife had bought a couple of cans of cider like he likes, which I've never ever drunk in my life before and was never ever tempted when I was drinking - I was a bitter, mild and stout man mostly with the odd madness on vodka thrown in when I started losing it a bit more!

    He drinks one. The other stays in the fridge - normally no issue for me. It is there several days then I open the fridge to get the milk out for a cup of tea and ... BANG! I clock it. I remember it. I stays talking to me for a few hours. I go to the fridge take it out and pour it down the sink. My wife was concerned - I wasn't it is just how it is with my head. MY risk level elevated slightly but I took action that actually felt good watching it wash away. I've shared about it at more than one meeting recently spoken with others about it. Laughed at how daft this'll sound to anyone not an alcoholic and also quietly patted myself on the shoulder again on another job well done in the daily reprieve from alcoholism. Until the next time it finds another undiscovered route in my psyche to get at me... it will... I'm waiting... and so is my spirit that I look to help me ... and the others who tell me like you about their scares and I hope and trust in all that to mean that I'll turn away, walk away, smash the bottle, pout it away... what ever it takes to refuse the first one.

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    1. pat..pat..pat..That's from me. I can't tell you how much leftover wine I've poured down the drain. The hubs likes to cook with it (especially the red) but sometimes it just has to GO.

      Whatever it takes my friend...I'll do whatever it takes.

      Sherry

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  4. my four favorite words "no f-ing thank you"
    laughing, I am laughing my way through the past eight posts :)

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  5. The center points and I had children and after that, we required to be home on Sunday's to get prepared for the following week...superbowl not withstanding. Indeed, I recall one Superbowl Sunday we used in the crisis room with a 2 year old Brian who had gotten got dried out from a stomach infection (thank God I wasn't drinking at home in those days).

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