Pity Parties Are the Worst
A few weeks back, I threw myself a real doozy of a party. Nobody showed up. It was a pity party and come to find out, nobody really wants to be around a whiner - not even the whiner.
I found myself in the midst of what felt like an existential crisis - I will never be able to drink like a “normal” person again, ever. For the record, I’m still trying to nail down the definition of a normal person so I know who exactly I wish I was more like. Don’t get me wrong, being sober beats the hell out of the chaotic fog of alcoholism but there are times I romanticize my drinking days. All of the $300 bottles of wine at Michelin Star restaurants, the sparkling rose’ at brunch and a good stiff cucumber martini to celebrate some business or personal win - I can’t lie, I miss those times. My drinking wasn’t always on par with Nick Nolte during his dark days but it most certainly was towards the end. A DUI landed me on house arrest for 14 days, at which time I also got Covid. Forced social distancing I guess.
Looking back on the havoc alcohol wreaked in my life it’s hard to believe I would miss it but when times are good, I do. I was never much of a “drink to wallow in my sorrows” kinda gal, I drank mostly during good times and it just so happened there were far too many good times.
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