It’s a Saturday night, and I’m (about) 15 days alcohol-free.

This wasn’t on purpose. And to be honest, I’m not really sure what this means.

Right now, I’m just taking it day by day, and I think, for the most part, I’m enjoying it.

For health reasons, I had to go no booze for a few weeks. At first, there was almost relief. An excuse to not drink? Feels like I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.

The weekdays are easy. Wake up. Drink warm lemon and turmeric tea. Coffee. Smoothie. Work and then lunch. A walk along the boardwalk, maybe.

More work. And then some kind of evening exercise. Dinner with my parents with whom I’ve temporarily moved back in for the holidays.

A glass of wine would be nice, but it’s a work night, so I feel fine with a mint tea.

But tonight, Saturday, the weekend, it’s hard. I crave a glass of Sauvignon Blanc at the end of what’s been a long week. I don’t even want to get drunk, I just want that comforting, fuzzy feeling wrapped around me.

I feel grateful for this forced sobriety. The temptation is there, but now there’s actually something stopping me.

So, I eat homemade pizza and fill up a large bottle of water, and I watch a few episodes of a funny show I’ve been watching. It’s a nice, temporary relief.

I find I’m bored after a few episodes. Without the buzz of booze, my mind begins to wander, and I can feel something inside my imagination sparking.

I also ate too much. I want to move a little. Change up the scenery.

I fill a hot bath with bubbles, and I scrub off the little bit of makeup I had on from the day. I shed my clothes and dip my toes into the warm water. It’s soothing.

I’m listening to a podcast on the function of our emotions. My skin is hot in the tub—so hot it’s almost burning. I take a sip of the cold water, refreshing.

Earlier, I thought maybe I’d make some popcorn and watch a movie. But I’m still so full from dinner and oh, look, it’s early. It’s only 9 p.m. and my mind feels restless. Sharper than it usually would this time on a Saturday evening.

I make some more tea—my new best friend in these 15 days—and I sit down to write.

I don’t remember the last time I wrote on a Saturday evening. I always thought the words came better when I was slightly boozy, but when I think about it, have I actually ever properly sat down to write after a few drinks?

So much of my time and energy I’ve been wasting!

I try not to overthink this all too much. In a few days, I’ll be “allowed” to drink again. And I don’t know if I’ll be lunging at the opportunity.

There seems to be more comfort in this naked mind than a glass of wine could have brought me.

And wow, if there’s anything good to come from this god-awful year, would it be so bad if all I learned was to not mind my own company?

~