Submitted by Diana. She blogs at Diana Republic about life in Chicago with her husband, furry kids, and sobriety.
I always have a glass of wine to get ready. Doesn’t everyone? Don’t’ answer that. It may or may not be my first drink of the day. I now put it in a highball glass instead of a wine glass, but I won’t deny it is wine if asked. There will come a time when it will be a rum and diet coke because it looks like diet coke and I need caffeine.
I look at my face in the magnified makeup mirror and the negotiations begin.
“I will keep it under control tonight. Maybe I will just drink wine. That’s it -- just wine. But they have the good blue cheese olives there… one martini and then just one glass of wine with dinner, “ I tell myself as I apply concealer to the dark puffy circles under my eyes. Of course, it’s the blue cheese olives that sway me and not the vodka that they will be doing the backstroke in.
My steel-like resolve will waver before I’ve even left the house.
Once at the restaurant, we move to the bar to wait for our table.
“A Grey Goose martini, dry, with blue cheese olives straight up, please.” I tell our favorite bartender. And off we go.
If I am lucky I will remember dinner. I will probably remember what I ordered, if not eating it. But the negotiations have failed and I will have a martini and a couple of glasses of wine and for dessert I will have black Sambuca with my coffee. I will pour another glass of wine when I arrive home, more than likely, if I think I can get away with it.
And in the morning I will wake with a dry mouth and a throbbing head. I will be wracked with anxiety and guilt. I won’t remember stumbling as we left the restaurant or slurring my words to the staff, who by now expect no less. I won’t remember the dinner conversation and will therefore have to hope that no really important topics were covered. I won’t remember passing out half dressed while my husband brushed his teeth with vain hopes of lovemaking. I won’t remember if my husband is hurt and angry with me.
Sunday morning I will apologize and try to make up for the night before. Then I will lobby for brunch where I can order mimosas before starting the whole pathetic cycle over again.
This sad, lost weekend was what I was afraid I would be denied in sobriety.
And thank God, I have been.