This has been a week. Life is in one of those sort of weird trampoline moments where it feels up and then down, and then up and then maybe face plant. 
I have been thinking so much about drinking this week. Out of the blue, suddenly and without warning. I almost teared up thinking of a gin martini driving home from work. I keep looking at the back porch thinking about getting it ready for us to use and feeling so so sad that I won’t be out there swilling wine, smoking cigs well into the night for the spring and summer. Ugh, I know. Doesn’t that sound so…awful? And yet so much like my real life that I want to throw it on like an old sweater then quickly turn my head so I can’t see this pretty life over here. 
It’s hard to get used to me this week. I’m doing with sweets what I used to do with booze, without the hangover and blackouts which is nice, but still that out of control behavior that makes me so mad at me. Which means something is bothering me, but I don’t know what it is yet, and instead of doing some soul searching to figure it out I’ve been downing cheesecake and cookies and jelly beans. And salted caramel popcorn. And cherry cheese coffee cake.  And maybe helping bite the heads off of chocolate Easter bunnies. 
That’s the hardest part too, the part where even though I’m not pounding away at the chardonnay I’m still carrying on with the defeating behavior. It’s like I’m eight years old and I’m trying to get away with something. And I know I won’t get in trouble because I’m the parent and the child. But then I’m not in trouble, I’m just silently beaten up in my head all day, so I didn’t get away with anything. Anything at all.
Deep breath. 
Do you ever get through a week and wonder who lived your part? If it was even you since someone made all these bad decisions and now here you are scratching your head without a clue who it was that thought all that junk was a good idea? And how even though I don’t drink anymore I’m still behaving like an alcoholic? How that’s not fucking fair because I don’t drink anymore
I’m not good at struggle. I’m not good at not looking the part- you know, the part. The one where life is good, everything is fine. I cannot be vulnerable or people will think I’m weak. And if I’m weak then I’m not doing it right. And, hold up. People might see the real me. Who I’m really starting to like, but I’m delicate. I don’t need folks tromping all over my fresh new feelings. I mean, it is spring over here y’all. My tender emotions still need time to get middle-of-summer-leaves tough. 
The boys are gone for the whole week on spring break with their grandparents. I’ve been thinking about going to a…meeting. I adore everyone here (more than you could ever know since you can’t see my face, nor I yours) but I also may need some face time. Some real arms to hug and say “It’s OK” that don’t belong to my husband or my mom. A friend or two who knows what I’m going through and can stand to talk about it for a long time, more than once. I need some reinforcements. Eyes to look into and voices that say, “I understand exactly where you’re coming from. There, there.”
I don’t know how I feel about the whole premise of AA. It doesn’t feel “right for me”. And by “right for me” I mean, well….the religious thing. I love the thought of love and faith. But do I believe there’s some entity controlling all of this? Well, no. No I don’t. I’m not a fan of religion per se. This is a hard thing to explain. I could be all about surrender, and be powerless to control what happens except for me and my choices. That is true. I have always loved the singing at church, so maybe I can find a singing AA group and go from there. AA feels sort of brain-wash-y to me. I don’t know. I just don’t know.
So here I am again. I have to kind of laugh at myself since I’ve finally taken some time to sit and think. You know, THINK. Work through some shit. Tie up some of the loose ends that have been noisily flapping around in my head all week. Taking a few minutes to batten down the hatches, put down the cookies, and get on with it.