Those sucky, horrible monkey’s chattering in my head. Oh you know the ones. “Just go have a drink,” they say. “Doesn’t a beer sound good tonight?” they snicker. “Stop at Brewski’s and say hi. Oh and while there, have them serve up your regular. You know, the Jack and Coke?” they taunt.
I so want a drink. I remind myself with my tattoo that I CANNOT go have a drink. I am a Teetotaler, damnit. I remind myself that I can’t just have one. I remind myself that I am not a normal drinker. I bring up visions of waking up at 3:00am with a throbbing headache and in desperate need of a glass of water (or 2). But none of that really helps. I know what will happen, but it doesn’t stop the desire. I’m pretty sure I won’t stop at the LQ or a bar, but the booze-hour has been hitting regularly in the afternoons for a week or so now.
MAKE IT GO AWAY
Sob sob, I hate it. And what am I at now? 464 or so days ugh