I used to have FOMO, now I'm happy with JOMO...

Ok everyone. It seems silly to have two place on the interwebby, where I write. So I'm going to combine the two, over on my Website. Which is Wordpress, which I prefer.

But I will still post the link here. So sorry about the extra click. See you on the other side xx

I Used to Have FOMO, now I'm Happy with JOMO

WBxx

The Best Ideas were at the Bottom of the Bottle.......

........but unfortunately, I could never remember them......

It's another fallacy that we cling on to to rationalize our drinking.....it makes us more creative!

A kind of "Boozey Muse"

Ernest Hemingway, a famous Drunk and Author. Or a famous Author and a Drunk (depends on your perspective) is quoted often as saying " Write Drunk and Edit Sober"

He never actually said this, and according to his daughter, NEVER wrote while he was drunk. Apparently, he rose early, wrote in a very disciplined fashion for hours every morning, and then headed off to get shitfaced in the afternoon.

Being creative (as anyone who creates will tell you) requires dedication and perseverance. In fact the old adage "10% inspiration and 90% perspiration" does actually apply.

Of course, if you drink lots (like I used to) and always wanted to be creative (like I do), then the tendency is to cling on to the "Tortured Addict Artist" stereotype, as it serves you well.

And if you don't identify with Ernest Hemingway, there's a whole bunch to chose from... Hunter S Thompson, Dorothy Parker, Raymond Chandler, Dylan Thomas, Truman Capote.... the list of revered drunkard writers is seemingly endless......who must have created their best work under the influence....surely?

It's as ridiculous as saying "I drive much better after I've had a few......"

When I drank lots of wine, I truly believed (regularly) that I stumbled on the plot of a bestseller, invented ingenious products, and had grandiose business schemes........all fading away - if I even remembered them - in the wake of next morning's hangover.

This is my 97th blog posting. Approximately 50,000 words, the length of a short novel. I've also written about 40 business blogs, and several E-books for my business, nothing to set the literary world on fire - not even a spark - but a approximately 50,000 words, 40 business blogs and several E-books MORE than I ever wrote when I was drinking.

And those fabulous ideas? The ones at the bottom of the bottle?

I remember some with embarrassment, especially if they were accompanied by drunk declarations by text or on social media......all faintly ridiculous...

I don't wait around for inspiration to strike, I just write - even when I don't feel like it. I didn't feel much like typing away tonight, but something compelled me to sit down, and this blog came together as I started to type. It was inspired by the Hemingway quote (above) that I saw on Facebook this morning, and it just stayed with me, until I started to write....


The Boozy Muse was no more than the Wine Witch in disguise.

Not Drunk Enough.

"But you only drank wine...not the hard stuff. For God's sake, they practically drink wine for breakfast in Europe"

But I drank a lot of wine, sometimes more than a bottle at a time......

"That's not much, that's only about four glasses, and if you drink two of them with dinner.. 

Actually, a bottle is about 6 units, according to Canada Health.

"Oh, the government. Since when did you care what the Government says?

Since they told me that my drinking could cause about six different types of cancer, diabetes, dementia....and besides, it makes me feel like shit"

Oh, pu-leeassse ....You feel like shit? A headache in the morning? You don't even drink the hard stuff!

Oh, you'd prefer it if I drank a bottle of vodka a day?

Well, at least that would be a real fucking problem!

Let's get this straight - you don't think I have a problem?

Only if being an uptight whiny bitch who needs some attention is a problem! Other people have real problems, you know, hunger? War? Poverty? Even people right here on Vancouver Island have more problems than you...

I know that people have many terrible problems, much worse than mine, but still, my wine drinking was a real issue, it was affecting my life! My business! My marriage!

Oh, come on....you think he wants to be with some boring bitch who can't have any fun? He didn't sign up for all this sober shit !

It's better now! He's proud!

He's embarrassed! And what about that blog? What kind of fucking hero do you think you are? You're not some kind of addictions counselor!

I know who you are.

YOU DON"T KNOW SHIT! You're just a middle-aged Drama Queen who needs some attention, and thinks her little "wine drinking" problem is IMPORTANT!

I know who you are.

WHO I AM??? WHO I AM?? You don't even know who you are! You think you're some kind of ALCOHOLIC?

Yes

YOU WERE NEVER DRUNK ENOUGH TO BE PART OF MY CLUB!!! 

I know who you are. And I know you're scared.

ME? SCARED? 

Yes, Every time I refuse a glass of wine, every time I wake up full of love and joy, every time one person reads my blog, or other blogs and decides that it's time to cut down a little, or give up entirely, every time someone congratulates me for being sober, one more day......you fade a little. Die a little....until one day, your voice with be so faint, that I can barely hear you. So until then, you obscenity, you will scream and roar.......but your days are numbered. Soon you will be no more.

 

Day 90 - Not My Circus....Not My Monkeys....

Yay! Day 90!

One huge benefit to this sober thing, is the ability to deal with the daily "drama" that life throws at you without  1. Overreacting to it and 2. Contributing to it

Today is not only day 90 of sobriety for me, but also Day 11 of BF#2's visit.

My patience is wearing thin, and although I have not even thought about running for wine, I have been locking myself away in my office, with a note on the door that says

"Working. Do not disturb unless you have coffee".

Inside the office, you can hear me chanting..

"Not my circus, not my monkeys, not my circus, not my monkeys"

Here's a small excerpt  of the daily drama....


Dramatic Scene 1.  WB, Mr.WB, BF#1, Mrs BF#1 and BF#2 sit around pretend camp fire.

BF#1, obnoxiously drunk, refers to Mrs BF#1 by his ex-wife's name. An awkward silence, as Mrs BF#1 exits the scene stage left, muttering "I've had enough of this F**king bullshit"
BF#1 follows, raised argumentative voices....fading out...
WB exits stage right, goes to bed to read book (about Mrs Thatcher, actually it's quite good)

Dramatic Scene 2. 

 Dusk.WB, Mr WB & BF#2 arrive home from pub (WB driving the truck, as Mr.WB begins to appreciate the benefits of her sobriety)
Arrive in the driveway to hear raised voices (more like screams) from next door, as very drunk BF#1 and Mrs. BF#1 duke it out on their deck.
WB exits stage right, goes to bed to read book. (I didn't know that Mrs Thatcher had a sister! Muriel!)

Dramatic Scene 3.

WB in bed with Mrs Thatcher.
Loud knock on the front door. Crying and sobbing can be heard from Mrs BF#1 as it becomes apparent that BF#1 has gone on a drunken rampage in his truck!! WTF??
She wants one of us to drive around looking for him.

Sounds like a really bad idea!!

WB (realizing that she is the only one who is stone cold sober, and therefore the only candidate for the proposed rescue expedition, hurriedly turns off the light and shoves Mrs Thatcher under the covers)

Stay tuned for more dramatic, alcohol-fuelled scenes...



I am so thankful that I am no longer drinking. Apart from a few days of PAWS, I have managed to stay calm and keep my sense of humour.

Every so often though, if you listen carefully, you can hear me chant under my breath "not my circus, not my monkeys, not my circus, not my monkeys...."

Have a wonderful Friday,

WB xx

Day 79 - The Sins of the Fathers

I may have mentioned that we live in  a small community.

My husband grew up here. We live next door to one of his best friends that he met in Grade 1. Tomorrow, his other best friend arrives from Prince George to stay for a few days.

The other common ground that my husband and BF #1 and BF #2 share is that all three of their fathers were alcoholics.

My husband tells this story

" My Dad would get grand ideas about owning a boat (Commercial Fish Boat), and phone up all kinds of people to make appointments to look at boats - he never had a penny.
One day he piled us all in the car, and drove down to Victoria. On the way he swigged vodka from one bottle, followed by a mouthful of lemonade.
When we got there he was well and truly hammered. We met the guy who was selling this boat - I remember it was a beauty. Dad could hardly stand. He waved his hand and said - we''ll take it for the summer and let you know if we're going to keep it! I was so humiliated and embarrassed.
The owner of the boat just walked away saying 'drunk f**king Indians wasting my time"

Both BF #1 and BF #2 have similar stories about their fathers. Having to punch out their Dads when they got mean (my husband too had his share of black eyes and bloody noses, while trying to wrestle cash away from his Dad so his mum could pay bills).

My husband didn't touch alcohol until he was in his thirties - 'Dad drank enough for all of us" - and now is a very moderate drinker.

Sadly, both BF#1 and BF#2 are not. I often see BF#1 lurching in the driveway in the morning (yes morning), and I know the glass in his hand is vodka, not water.

BF #2 is married to a lady who I consider one of my best friends. She has often phoned me crying about her husband's drinking habits.

Last time BF#2 came to stay, it was the week before I gave up drinking. Although there were many reasons, and it was well overdue, those few days watching BF#2, finding empty vodka bottles in all kinds of hiding places, and watching him morph into this mean intense drunk person (just like his Dad, my husband said), undoubtedly had an influence on my decision to stop.

I have no idea what this week holds for us. Except that I have extra supplies of AF beer.

Day 50 It takes a Drunk to know a Drunk

There has only been one person in my life that has called me a drunk.

This was last year, many months before I put down my wine glass for good, but my first reaction was not of denial or outrage but "takes one to know one...."

The lady (I'll call her L) who shone a spotlight into my darkness, was (is) not a friend. We were thrown together by the enduring friendship of our husbands.

During our first meeting, we established a mutual loathing, and ironically, a mutual comradery.

The unspoken comradery existed because of our shared love of alcohol, and also because we provided each other with a useful metric for our drinking habit..

"God, at least I don't drink as much as L...... " , I have been known to utter (both internally and externally, to focus attention away from me)

I am sure that L used me in the same way.

My husband and his friend were seemingly oblivious to the tension between L and I, until we finally had an argument that culminated in angry words fueled by alcohol, and the ensuing name calling.
My husband and his friend put it down to 'girl drama" and ignored it, they took to meeting for lunch occasionally, and the boozy dinner foursomes stopped.

Being called a drunk was one of many incidents that would finally form the tipping point for me.

Looking back, I remember one afternoon when L and I were together waiting for our husbands to arrive back from fishing.
She had just arrived back from a trip to visit her family, and mentioned that one of her cousins had stopped drinking.
"I was looking forward to sharing a bottle of wine with her" said L "but it turns out she's an alcoholic, and doesn't touch it any more"
She went on to say...."You know what, I sometimes wonder if I am......"

It would have been so easy for me to say " You know what? Me too, maybe we should do something about it....". But I didn't.

It was convenient for me to have someone who was far worse than me....

I recalled this conversation when the other day my husband mentioned casually that he had met up with his friend for lunch.

"L had a bit of a meltdown" he said. " She got herself into a rage and drove her truck through the gates in the front yard"
'Luckily (friend) managed to stop her before she drove into town....she was very drunk"

A year ago I would have feigned alarm and sympathy, while internally ticking off another box on the list "Reasons Why L is a Worse Drunk than Me"

Now I just wish that I had responded when she was so obviously reaching out for help. 

Day 13 - When Fiction Imitates Life...

I have just finished reading "The Girl on the Train" by Paula Hawkins. Well, I not so much read it, as inhaled it in one sitting. First of all I love psychological thrillers and mysteries, and secondly, over the last two weeks or so, I have slowly got my reading mojo back (helps to fill the wine shaped void). Also, I found the description of how this lady fell into the alcohol sink hole and thrashed around there, in part as if the author had just documented my life.
If you read the book and wonder, the really bad parts don't apply, but I can totally relate to the black outs, lack of memory of conversation and entire evenings as well as all the phone calls and emails sent whilst under the influence.
My greatest relief in these last 13 mornings, is NOT to have to check my phone, my email and my face book page to check what stupid incoherent message I made public, because it must have seemed like a good idea in my wine stupor.
I still feel the cringing embarrassment and shame.
Sadly over the last few years I have managed to screw up perfectly good friendships, due to my Wine Alter Ego, that turned me into a mean, spiteful, obsessive and hurtful person.
The reason I chose the name "The Wine Bitch" is because I feel that this is who I became.
The hard part going forward (as well as ongoing sobriety) is facing up to some of the horrible things I've said and done, and somehow make amends.

Well, here's to being better ** raises glass of sparkling water and lime **.....have a great weekend xx

Day Three

Day Three. Day three is always the wobbly day. Day One is easy, usually because it’s Hangover Day – or should I say “ Motherfucker of a Hangover Day” rather than the usual “ Low level fuzziness which is my daily normal Hangover Day”.

Day Three usually follows Day Zero – overdrinking on a scale that means I sleep in an alcohol induced coma on the couch to about three o’clock in the morning – wake up feeling like shit, and then hastily check my phone to make sure I haven’t drunk texted, or facebooked anything stupid and embarrassing, then fall into bed, to try and get normal sleep, before my husband gets up with the sun.

Then comes Day 1 – aforementioned Motherfucker Hangover Day, and I try and act all breezy and normal, trying to hide the fact that coffee (second in line to my first love, wine) is causing my stomach to do flip flops. If I’m lucky, and I don’t have to do any damage control in cyber world, I just spend the day in general misery and self –loathing.

Day 2 – always way better. Coffee tastes good, I usually feel a little smug, the day can be fairly productive (for that read * get a couple of things done*), and I pat myself on the back, because I can, if I really try, make it past wine o’clock without cracking open a chilled bottle of white. Unless of course, my husband pours himself a whiskey, and then I get irrationally pissed that I am missing out, and drive down to the liquor store for the chilled white.

(Note – Somehow – and I am sure I will examine this at some point, I have managed to convince myself that drinking white wine – is not actually drinking….wtf??)

Then comes Day Three. It’s always the test. I feel like I have purged and cleansed for two days, and to reward myself, I contaminate my body – YET AGAIN – with a bottle of wine. Or two.

And, dear reader (at this point only me), that has been the pattern for at least ten years. Oh you fucking liar, more like twenty.

Why the change? No, I wasn’t checked into hospital, I didn’t kill anyone, I just felt like – I am always about a bottle away from achieving my potential – I never get there. I am SO CLOSE to building a truly awesome online business – then I have a couple of glasses of wine, and think, what the hell? I’ll write that tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.

Tomorrow HAS to be Day Four. No MORE Day Three’s.