Now that I’ve begun, what do I do with the Gun? Did I say Gun? I meant Gin… What do I do with all the Gin?

Day 3 of 66 days of sobriety.

Euston, we have a problem. The problem is in the shape of many bottles of craft Gin sat in the kitchen looking like hopeful soldiers waiting to be picked for battle. They need to go somewhere else for at least another 63 days. The problem is deciding where. I don’t want to give it to any recovering alcoholic friends for safekeeping no matter how secure they may be in their recovery, because it’s just plain mean. Nor do I want to put it in the hands of any drinker friends in case this habit formation business is a bust and on day 67 I want to celebrate with a gimlet only to find it’s all gone. That’s probably not the best attitude to have but I have it and I’ll have to live with it.

I’m toying with idea of putting it in Gina and Dave’s garage as neither have a penchant for gin, but I’m not all that up for having the conversation as to why I need my gin in their garage instead of just putting it in my unused downstairs loo. If I were to explain I can already hear Gina’s catchphrase of ‘I don’t get it’ after my pointing out the multiple why’s.

And that’s just the gin. What about the craft beer? Just 2 hours ago I had to open the door to a gentleman delivering a crate of beer. What would ordinarily be a happy occasion met with exclamations of delight and a running to get a knife to slice through the packaging to reveal my gift was today a sombre moment indeed. I placed the box on the hallway bench and slowly backed away from it leaving it safely sealed. It sits there like an abandoned backpack at an airport, all menacing and full of the potential for destruction.

The beers I can possibly live with in the unused loo. Not all of last months installment have been finished yet so I know I can resist them. But what about when the next parcel arrives? The next one is the Big One. On the first or second of March a delivery person will knock and place the Gin parcel in my hands. Horror.

The rational thing to do is cancel the alcohol subscriptions. What sort of a very nearly but not yet 30 year old woman has subscriptions to craft beer and gin clubs anyway? It’s such middle class, married people behaviour! And I am far from middle class and have no intention of marrying again thank you muchly. So cancellation has to be the thing. I shall do it promptly before talking myself out of it.

It’s probably a good idea to remind myself that gin is the devil. It’s the worst drink for me bar tequila (just sniff it and I get memory loss) and kronenberg (flashback of punching a guy for calling me a lesbian. I was holding hands with a woman at the time and I am most likely a bit of a lesbian). Gin has this strange roulette quality to it in that you never know what dose will fuck you up. The only thing you can count on is that at some point it will fuck you up. It could be the fourth, sixth or fifteenth, but it will find you. Maybe don’t drink 15 then, I hear you say. Ha! If that was a thing that I could do then there would be no need to be writing this now would there?

Don’t get me wrong I am super capable of having just one or two drinks when the small people are home and more often than not go completely without a drop when I’m on parenting duty. But then the friday they go away hits and BAM! Out comes the wretched boozehound, sniffing for the most potent poison to mess me up in the shortest time frame possible. I figure I owe it to myself. I’ve been a good girl for nearly a fortnight so I deserve to let my hair down, and by let my hair down I of course mean let it hang down into the toilet bowl as I attempt what has been affectionately named a ‘tactical vom.’ For those unfamiliar with this term (as i’d hope most would be) a tactical vom is enforced vomiting after excessive drinking to make way for, you guessed it… more drinking.

Gosh that all sounds terribly unhealthy. One could almost feel shame at such behaviour if one hadn’t done so many shameful things that this barely blips on the shameometer.

The small people going away is the biggest trigger for me. I think it’s about loneliness. The weekend comes and the only real option for socialising is the pub. My best friend Meg is four years sober so spending time with her would be perfect, but she spends her weekend evenings helping other addicts get clean, selfish cow. Maybe I have other friends who’d rather not get shitfaced on the weekend but I haven’t bothered to seek them out. I must make that a goal. Find out what friends would rather do something other than drink till we forget our own names, but so help me god, if someone recommends we go to the cinema (cold, dark, loud, uncomfortable) i’ll take to my bed and cry.

But anyway, about this subscription business. I have just this moment had a fantastic idea. I will most definitely cancel both beer and gin subscriptions, bite the bullet and ask to hide all booze in Gina and Dave’s garage. Then I will treat myself to a subscription to Womankind magazine, an amazing, ad free, feminist delight of a mag. I have always wanted to subscribe but had written it off as a ludicrous luxury despite the fact that a 2 year subscription works out to cost about the same amount as one month with the gin and beer clubs. Excellent plan!

Hurrah! I will, for another 63 days (but who’s counting?) save money, improve my health, enrich my brain and most importantly, hide the Gun (oops, that again!).

Ever Unclear.

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