It has officially been 132 days of sobriety for me. What does that look like? I’m not sure.
I can tell you what it smells like, though. Straight shit. I wish I was lying or exaggerating but I’m not.
Ironically, there’s nothing significant about this marker. I just happened to count the days and felt a bit of pride. Four months is a third of a year, so that’s a pretty hefty chunk of time.
Funny enough, on my to-do list for today is to find some time to watch a Charles Bukowski documentary. If anyone would provoke a relapse it would be him.
Figures like Bukowski, Hunter S., and the like have all made drinking, smoking, and whatever else seem so seductive.
And to those who smoke and drink daily, better you than me, but also – I get it. This existence is a bitch with a bad attitude most of the time.
And for the record, I used the word ‘seductive’ earlier not because it was the perfect fit, but because I couldn’t be bother. Alluring, cool, and other words came to mind, but in order to do that I’d have to change the sentence up, so I just left it.
Anyhow, as of right now I am telling myself to fast for the night. I stopped eating at 7pm which is a perfect cut off time. But there’s an addict in me that acts like a gremlin, often, and right now it wants ice-cream. Actually, it always wants ice-cream.