OK, I realise that much of my angst was alcohol-related. It also had to do with hanging out, almost every day, in a pub with other creatures of the night. It seems that in the dark, smoky interior of the pub, other rules prevail. Everyone is running away from something. Even the poor girl everyone despises, who picks up a different man every night, when she's too drunk to see straight, and ends up having sex with them right there. I think you cannot possible plunge into an atmosphere of loss and longing, night after night, without adverse effects. Yeah, and that's no matter how good the music is.
So yesterday was the end of Lent. Which means, technically, I could go out and get rip roaring drunk if the mood so takes me. Except that I am pretty happy with my newfound sobriety. And I realise all the stuff I was giving up (like peace of mind) for a few minutes of oblivion.
Instead, I went to yoga class yesterday and tried to stretch myself as far as I could go. I think the body echoes the mind, and it helped me see just how inflexible the mind is.
When I got back, I showered, glugged some Italian Aqua Vitae and read some Cleveland Amory (I finished the second book, The Cat and the Curmudgeon), watched Stardust (I love it, love it, love it, and besides, I had finished my Twin Peaks box set), and worked on my project.
I have started making my gifts for Christmas. It's the best thing to do when stretched out on the sofa, watching my DVD du-jour. Now that I quit the gym, I realise that I was never home before because of it. Every night, at least two hours of my time puffing away on a treadmill with nasty headbanging music blaring at me from the speakers (you could try to stuff your own ears with the iPod, but it wouldn't work). Coming out feeling a little worse (rather than better) about myself.
So it's the first day post-Lent. And I was supposed to get drunk.
But maybe I'll give it a miss.
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