On Sunday, I:
- went to hot yoga
- ate breakfast and lunch
- jigsaw puzzled a bit
- manned a GS cookie booth with my kid
- stopped for donuts at a new place (it ain’t no KK)
- painted on my paint by number with my kid
- ate dinner and helped clean it up.
It was a good day. Even still, I thought about drinkin, longingly, if not for long. Hubs has his red solo cup. I woulda liked to join him. But I didn’t.
I remember a long time ago blogging about how I missed Sunday drinking. This wasn’t like that. There wasn’t as much recent familiarity with Sunday drinkin and so the longing wasn’t so intense. The amount of time I spent reminiscing felt shorter, too. It drug on throughout the afternoon when I last wrote about it. Whether I want to, or try to, or not, my relationship with alcohol keeps changing as I keep freezing it out of my life and finding other stuff to do and think about. It’s kinda funny how I am just doing the same thing over and over (saying no the vino), but still changing.