Some are private about their drinking. Years ago I mentioned to a friend that I noticed that she didn’t recycle, and her response was that it’s not her neighbors’ business how much she drinks. Huh. It never occurred to me to care. We put our gin, wine, and whiskey bottles right out by the curb. Were our neighbors counting our bottles while they were out walking their dogs? Did they judge? Probably not; because who does that? My friend who didn’t recycle, that’s who.
About ten years ago I fell into a wine habit. A bottle a night. That’s either three glasses or four, depending on how big your glass, how high the wine level. I’d start at around five and tip the glass for the last time at about nine, so the bottle lasted me all evening. Because we were living in Singapore, and we walked or relied on public transportation, I was so active that I gained no weight from my regular imbibing. During this period, when people asked why I always turned down potatoes and bread, my standard response was, “I prefer to drink my carbs.”
When we returned from Singapore, moved out to Marble Falls, and began running our errands in a car rather than on foot, it was inevitable that my weight would start sneaking upward. I’m not a fanatic about weight, neither a whiner nor an obsessor; but if you come from short round people you get fat if you don’t keep a wise eye on it. So five years into the Marble Falls life, it occurred to me that the prudent thing to do would be to look up the number of calories in a bottle of wine. Oh my! In all honesty, this is about the thirtieth time in my life that I’ve come to realize that what goes into my mouth has something to do with the needle on the scale. A repetitive epiphany.
So, realizing it was time to let the wine habit go, I stowed my electric corkscrew in the high cabinet; and I put the stylish silver wine rack on a shelf in the garage. Of course, because I’m a rational person and a rational person rationalizes, I came up with all sorts of exceptions and excuses. I would still drink socially—who wants to be the abstemious person in the group? And, as a reward for abstaining for a week, I would allow myself a martini on Saturday nights. Oh glorious Saturdays. The taste of the vodka brought delightful shivers; and I swear I felt each limb and muscle in my body relax as the alcohol traveled through my veins. Inevitably, soon it was two martinis, at which point Saturday became my night to drink.
Nevertheless, in three months I lost fifteen pounds and was back to my Singapore weight. Felt good. Clothes fit more comfortably.
And then came The Virus. The constant dissection of it. The miserable blame that came with it. The numbers and the comparison of numbers. People wearing masks throwing suspicious looks at those who didn’t. Workers not working. Not even able to go to a movie or enjoy a meal in a restaurant.
And I’ll also point out that during this time of closure, when dental offices, hair care and dog grooming services, and clothing stores were blocked from us, Specs and Twin Liquors remained open. We were stoic when it came to the inconveniences, but if they’d closed the liquor stores there would have been riots.
Anyway, with doom everywhere, what can you do but drink?
What used to be a wine habit has turned into a gin habit. What started out as one gin soon became three.
This is too much drinking; and the needle is once again creeping. Also, having once been owned by wine, why would I now want to be owned by gin? Well, because of The Virus. If society is in ruins, if we’ve lost our money, pleasures, and freedoms, why not indulge?
No. Be strong, Jen. The world falling apart is no excuse for weakness. Self-control is what’s needed.
So, in the name of discipline, I’ve come up with a new plan—and it’s a good one. A month off and a month on. Of course, the rule about social drinking will stand—during the non-drinking month if we’re asked to someone’s home, most likely for an outdoor event, to share a glass of wine, why then of course I’ll have the wine. To not do so would be rude. Also, during the off month, I’ll go back to my martini Saturday nights. As a reward.
But on the non-drinking month if I have a bad day, or if things go awry in the world, then I’ll give myself permission to have a drink, because drinking is a good way to handle sad times. Sometimes a person needs a drink. And that’s all there is to it.
A drink with old friends.
