I have been wanting to write but moving took up loads of time, and then the internet was working, but not really. And then there was the moving, and then more moving, and then more troubled internet, and then tra-la! A brilliant husband who understands fixing internet stuff and a just-enough-to-trap-us snow/ice storm hit yesterday and all I’ve got is time!

Moving was a great reminder of how well I can handle things now that I’m sober. (I sang ‘sober’ in a little sing songy voice in my head.) We moved for five days- getting our things here, cleaning things there- it was a chore. The children fried their brains on video games and ran around in the big new backyard while we stacked firewood. My husband and I did not fight one single time: we each had an “I want to strangle him/her” moment on the fourth day, but did not blaze and swear at one another. We just kept right on going.

None of this would have ever happened so gracefully if I was still drinking. Picture drinking me stressed out and hungover trying to accomplish a feat requiring infinite patience and patience, and then more patience. I think walking on water might be easier than being that.

It was difficult, but in a kind of good way.

Instead of drinking and being hungover and stressed and then drinking more because I’m stressed and then more hangover culminating into a quadruple double hangover by the fifth day I had a lot of bengal tea and nice snacks. I am taking my time putting things away- stowing things in the attic in labeled boxes, putting things where they go rather than just shoving them into hiding places because I feel like ass crap.

I do that on the regular now though. Taking my time that is. Understanding that when I feel, need, or want something that it may take some time for it to untangle itself and be resolved. By regular I might mean about 47% of the time, but that’s a vast improvement over the frantic woman I was, always straining for the finish line and not paying attention to what was going on around me. I can clearly remember the feeling of just wanting the day to be over for chrissakes. That’s why I would have my first glass of wine around five o’clock: it signaled that the day was over and I was free to be finished and finished. And in a strange way it was a way to say, “Oh, well. I didn’t quit drinking today. But there’s always tomorrow.” So it was like hopeless and hope full all at one time.

This house doesn’t have any of me drinking in it. When I look at the back porch I don’t automatically think of the flower pot overflowing with wet cigarette butts, of me out there slowly drinking my life away while my little boys slept upstairs. The kitchen is just our new kitchen- not where I made big glasses of wine and seltzer while pretending to cook dinner but really just boiling water for an hour while I went back and forth outside to smoke. This neighborhood isn’t where I drank myself silly with my neighbors and then woke up to wonder if I’d made an ass of myself. I won’t be herding the kids out to the car to make a quick trip to the store for a coke but I really just need wine.

That woman doesn’t live here.

I’m still prone to outbursts of impatience that are sort of *ahem* over the top? I’m still me, but a clearer version of it. I still like pretty much all the same stuff, except for all the booze I used to adore and hate all at once. It’s strange to think of myself in a house where I don’t have any drinking history. It’s comforting to know that here, in this new place, I won’t wake up wincing and hungover wishing for more sleep and better willpower.

I have moved my life so much in this past year and some. Now there’s a new location to go with it. A house that already feels like home. It feels so safe here without the booze specter rattling chains and moaning about. I am able to feel the regular feels of moving: where am I, excitement, nervous, unsettled, grateful. I am able to handle something big without booze. What a relief.

What a welcome home.