So I wasn’t ruining my life with beer. I just got sick of drinking too much whenever I’d go out for one beer. So we’ve been playing with the idea of having one or two beers when we go out. And we have been playing with the idea of only going out once a week. This, opposed to going out four nights a week and having 9 beers each time. We have definitely saved money and although I’m pretty disappointed I haven’t lost 40 pounds in doing so, I am happier being out of a constant hangover fog that always seems to be residing with us. We are definitely clear-er headed and dealing with shit and I like that. Alcohol tricks you into thinking you’re having fun but really you’re just setting aside reality for another time which never shows up.
HOWEVER, without being able to take that edge off I am a stick in the mud, poop face, anxious before I turn every corner and plotting and planning my next moment ahead of me constantly. I’m sure there are pills for this. I’m sure exercise and a healthy diet would also help. But PBR’s are $2.50 and I miss all my friends. We are attempting to drink like civilized, normal, controlled people do and it’s been working out.
I didn’t have a drink when I was angry or stressed out or upset. I had a drink for the simple fact that an ice cold beer sounded really good and I’d have one ice cold beer and we’d go home. It feels adult. I like it. Sometimes I even leave beer in my glass. I don’t feel I need to slam every drop. I like that too. So this experiment in Middle Ground is working out well in all arenas.
Last night Michael and I had another discussion about me locking myself away in my room and how dumb I feel and how really important it is to me to just at least have the kitchen cleaned. I think when I explained to him that all day long, for my job, every day, all I do is clean up after people. It’s not just about me being spastic in an unrealistic way about someone leaving a spoon on the counter. I clean houses for a living. I clean kitchens all day long. And in verbalizing this I realized that’s what it is. I want to walk into the room and go ‘ahhhhhhhh.’ Just like my clients get to when they come home. That’s it. Our space is small and the common area is right off the kitchen and there’s nowhere to go to get away from the mess. There’s never an ‘ahhhhhh’ moment for me. I even said we can make all the blanket forts we want, we can leave shoes out, play like wild banshees; we have to live here, it’s our living space, but the kitchen and the dishes drive me nuts. After one meal there’s 5 cups, five plates, five sets of silverware and five messes to clean up. If stay on it like a jerk, I end up spending the whole morning and afternoon in the kitchen. LIKE MY JOB.
We came to a compromise thingy. If I feel better because four minutes are invested in helping the kitchen stay clean, thus making it easier for the kids to just load the dishwasher instead of loading the sink up, and THAT will make all the difference in the world, he’s in. We have a small space to work in, we don’t have a kitchen table, we can’t go downstairs and get away from the kitchen, everything is all in one room. If we all work together, Mommy doesn’t go cuckoo. Done deal.
If two beers helps me shut off my anxiety one night a week, I’m drinkin’ em. Suck it.