The Weekend Away

Day Twenty Six.

Yep, I've matched my previous best. What a terrifying thought. In all the years of drinking (beginning on a regular basis the summer I turned fifteen), I've never previously managed more than twenty six days sober. For most people, tomorrow will be just another day where they've felt neither the need nor inclination to get drunk, whilst for me it will be a landmark. Melodramatic, I know. Stupid? Probably.

I spent this last weekend in the countryside with a group of people my girlfriend went to Uni with. Nine of us were staying in the ex-home of one girl's recently deceased grandmother, which was far less macabre than it sounds but with as many hilarious family photos featuring outdated hairstyles and clothes creeping back into fashion, as one would expect. We went on walks, cooked and played board games. Usually a situation such as this, isolated sans-Internet reception with a group of people I don't know particularly well, would be managed by a steady flow of beer and spirits straight to my stomach. However, I abstained and managed to make it through with relative ease. It helped that the majority of the gang were partaking in Dry January. One girl referred to a daily mash article she'd read - "Non-alcoholics enjoying pretend battle with drink", which I chuckled at whilst feeling a bit shit about myself for not being strong enough to tell them the truth.

We got up early, did exercise, had wholesome breakfasts alongside cafetiere after cafetiere of coffee over discussions on feminism and politics and education. We went to bed before midnight and slept well, without the ceiling spinning or waking up at 5am plagued by ravenous dehydration. Zero headaches, which I'm still adjusting to. 
It was what I'm trying to get over calling 'Square'. That's one of my biggest problems; I don't want the party to end and, for me, the party relies on the social boost of alcohol and the silliness it causes. Social drinking and young people go hand in hand - normalised to the extent that you grow up doing it and thinking nothing of criticising those who don't drink of being boring old fuckers. Actually, you're the dull one - a tiresome spout of tipsy nonsense flowing out to anyone within earshot, forcing your views without the calm head to sensibly discuss them. I feel as if I'm less fun, sober. Less of a hilarious, talented and charming conversationalist. I'm aware that, in reality, I'm probably an obnoxious twat. But that's not how it feels.

Did I have a good time? Yes. Am I glad I wasn't drunk? Yes. So why do I feel empty and unfulfilled? I don't know. Sorry.

I've been hiding behind the banner of 'Dry January' so far, ever aware that the most vigorous external pressures will arrive in force within the next week or so. That should be interesting.

- UnderReCover