It’s been twenty-eight days.  Not quite yet a month unless that month is February.  I’m working on an average 30 day month so tomorrow and Thursday still count.

It’s a beautiful way to spend my last week of sobriety.  The sun is blazing.  I’m working on three stories which means that I’m always fresh whenever I sit down to write.  In the sections in between I’m gardening, cycling and doing yoga in the sun.  I may be a little burned on my back…idiot.

Pete has suggested we do a car boot on Saturday since the weather is so good and I haven’t argued with him.  In many ways it will be good to have a reason not to drink much on Friday night.  The odd thing is that after all thsese weeks without a drink I find that I’m not craving one.  All the sunshine and the freedom to write is more than luxury enough for me.

That’s not to say that I won’t enjoy a tipple when this Friday comes around but I have grown aware that I tend to crave a glass of wine when I’m down or nervous which is the worst possible time to indulge.   I’ve also discovered with some distance that the experience of being a little the worse for drink particularly with the morning after effects is in no way a good thing.  The thought of it, at the moment, makes me feel more than a little queasy.

I can’t promise that I won’t go back to my old wicked ways but I sincerely hope that I have learned something.





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