Thursday, August 29, 2013
Southern Fried Beast
At this point in my recovery, I've grown very used to being around normies/drinkers. I entertain with booze available and I attend parties where alcohol is definitely flowing. It doesn't bother me anymore. My parties end earlier (because I'm not begging people to stay and have "just one more") and I'm no longer the last to leave a party (because there's WINE LEFT). I go to sleep earlier and wake up without a hangover and I thank God for that every morning.
But, as I've said many, many times before, my beast is only sleeping. Sure, he's sleeping the sleep of the dead and is almost in a sort of hibernation but make no mistake about it, he can be awakened. In fact, he loves to be awakened. He waits for me to give him a little shove so he can growl, stretch, and remind me that I'm an addict.
Like last evening.
Work functions are still a challenge for me. Maybe it's because I AM an introvert and I always feel awkward in social, small talk situations. Wine helped to loosen me up and relate to others better. Sorry...but it's a fact. Maybe it's because for years the only time I drank was when I traveled and was on my own. When my kids were little I never drank at home and we seldom went out so when I traveled, my beast came along in my carry-on. I don't know why but I still feel the pull when I out with colleagues or traveling with them (traveling alone is no big deal).
So last night I attended a prescheduled dinner with some of my colleagues from my office and some from our sister office in San Francisco. I like all of these people and we know each other fairly well so small talk didn't even exist which was a blessing. But when the wine arrived at the table and everyone was tasting everyone else's wine (mostly white...my favorite) I felt the familiar sensation of my mouth watering.
But wait sports fans! That's not the end of the story.
Because they chose a SOUTHERN CUISINE restaurant. The kind that cooks the way my father (born in Nashville, raised in southern Virginia) used to cook. Mac and Cheese that is put together and baked with a thick topping of crunchy something on the top and is considered a vegetable in the south. Southern Fried Chicken the way they can only do it in the south - soaked in buttermilk and then breaded and then deep fried. Creamed potatoes. Buttered corn. Creamed spinach. Apple pie. Pecan pie. Jalepeno Corn Bread. Sweet tea.
Biscuits. I love biscuits. I mean really "I'd marry them if it weren't illegal in 36 states" love them.
Swear to God that was WAY worse than the alcohol. The wine only primed the pump. Once my beast got a look at the carb feast that was about to unfurl, he jumped out of bed, put on his dancing shoes and tapped danced on my psyche all night!!! And just when I thought it was over and I could escape to my comfy bed...
They ordered another round.
Well fuck me naked.
I stayed. I breathed. I prayed. And...as usual...I made it through fine. I was charming, I was witty and I stayed sober and carb free.
If last night was a test...I passed. Could we move on now?