This week I’ve had wine on the brain.
I’m not actually craving it. I just keep thinking about it. A lot. It’s as if I’m running along a narrow path, feeling good because I’m happy and still sober, but every now and then a big fat wine thought blocks the way. I have to jump over it, or kick it out the way to carry on going.
When I pause to think about each wine related thought logically, I realise I don’t want or need a drink. I think about all the things I learnt at the alcohol seminar last week and I remind myself that alcohol has NO benefits.
But still these thoughts keep popping into my head, sent there by some well-trained muscle. Maybe part of my brain is a few weeks behind the rest of it. Long, stressful day at work? Brain: Pick up some white wine on the way home. That’ll be nice. Me: I’m not drinking any more. Brain: Oh yeah. Forgot about that.
I was watching EastEnders the other day (shouldn’t really admit to watching such rubbish) and Sharon and Tanya were having a proper heart to heart over a bottle of wine. Instantly I felt a twinge and my first thought was: Oh poor me, I’ll never be able to do that again. The days of gossiping with my friends are over.
When I put my logical hat back on I can see that this is not true. I like catching up with my friends because I like them. They like me. We are interested in each others lives. That won’t change. It’s just my twisted, pickled brain that thinks taking away the wine takes away everything, like it’s some kind of magic ingredient.
Constantly working through all of these thoughts and emotions is hard work. (Yeah I know, first world problems). Actually, just thinking is quite hard work, because when you drink you don’t have to bother with thinking all that much. Maybe I’m just out of the habit. Maybe I just need to keep ploughing on.