This weekend Mare is gone on her annual winery tour weekend.  She goes down to Niagra-On-The-Lake for 2 nights and stays with about 10 ladies.  They rent bikes and travel around to a bunch of wineries.  This is one of those weekends that I used to look forward too because I could be alone for a while and I wouldn’t have to hide my drinking.  I am usually OK for the first night but then the committee of idiots in my head start to get rambunctious and I get the stinking thinking going.  Yesterday I started to romanticize the drink.  I started thinking about how it was better back when I could control my drinking.  And of course it was, fuck, back then as long as I had a bottle of vodka I was content.  Or at least I was content until the hangover and remorse kicked in.  I hear lots of people in the rooms talk about how they are glad that they are alcoholic, because it got them into the rooms and recovery and how much better their lives are now.  “Are they fucking nuts?”  I get the part about how my life is better now, but I am certainly not grateful that I am an alcoholic.  Fuck that noise!  Sometimes I am right pissed off at this whole situation.  But I have accepted it.  I am not yet at peace with it, but I have accepted it.

Perhaps I am just in a position where I feel like a lot of stuff is about to come boiling up to the surface.  Mare has arranged for us to go see a therapist on Monday.  I wonder what she is going to say and what I am going to have to react too.  Maybe some stuff is going to come out that we should have dealt with a long time ago.  Like the kids issue.  She still wants them, and I don’t know where I am with this idea.  I’ve had a few days lately where I think it would be great and then I look at my life and wonder how the hell I would manage this responsibility?

Well, fuck it, I am off to yoga.  I am capable, worthwhile and loveable…….

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