It's just gone two in the morning, and I'm still not tired (Morpheus is giving me the cold shoulder, arms firmly crossed).
I think it might be to do with the unaccustomed as I am alcohol embargo; it's Tuesday and I would be a bottle and a half of wine in by now (and asleep), and I'm neither, so my body is out of sorts.
Coincidentally, as I'm writing this there's the background mutter of a BBC3 documentary about binge-drinking in the periphery of ear. Occasionally some tidbit of alcohol-related nastiness will impinge, and make me stop writing for a moment - it's affirming in a way, and in a negative sense: good job I don't do that anymore.
It's only now that I'm a week and a bit without that I've begun to realise that it was a problem. When I decided to stop drinking I didn't think I was making a big decision; I had no insight into the situation (you can't look in a box if you're in it). I decided to stop pretty much on a whim.
It's a wonder to me that I only see the issue now I'm doing something about it. I didn't drink daily and regularly, but when I did drink I'd binge.
Still, I'm not planning to go completely tee-total, I just don't ever want to be drunk again. So I'm going to stay off the plonk for a couple more weeks, and then see if I can have a drink without following it up with another 8.
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