Last night I dreamed of a hearty red wine in a large, bulbous, wide mouthed glass. I drank a lot on one day and felt regret. Then the dream morphed into another day where I used the same glass, had the same red wine, felt the fact that this constituted a second day in a row of drinking and I was embarking on a pattern now, not having a slip up or a dalliance. This second time, I had only half a glass of wine and got obliterated. Remember the bed spinning and wishing, ineffectively, that you could make it stop? This drunk was like that — I could not think or talk or function and I was flabbergasted to be this impaired, and after so little wine, and I wanted to be sober really, really badly. But I couldn’t wish it so. I woke up anxious and having that thing where you check yourself to be sure that shit was JUST A DREAM.
The kid was asking lots of questions yesterday about drinking. I know I will have to educate her about this and feel unsure and conflicted about what to teach her. I also just hit day 90. Milestone. Had dinner with hubs at his job last night — I usually drink through that — and several folks stopped by our table to say hi & I only ever hung out with these folks buzzed or drunk — til now. So, there’s reasons for this dream at this time. It scared me. I remember reaching a point during my last quit where I felt good and scared of drinking again. I’m there.
Yesterday was Friday. End of the week fatigue. But I drove the kid to a concert, to dinner, then home, with a sleepover guest. Drunk Quitter could not have done all of that on a Fri nite. At least not without drunk driving. Ouch. I walked the dog outside after all of that. Enjoyed the warm evening and being conscious and present enough to rejoice in being home and the week finally being over. Drinking obliterates that sense of presence and appreciation. Sober is better, still. Thank God the rest was just a dream.