Meet me in the crowd, people, people
Throw your love around,
love me, love me
Take it into town, happy, happy
Put it in the ground
Where the flowers grow
Gold and silver shine
Shiny happy people holding hands
Shiny happy people holding hands
Shiny happy people laughing
Everyone around, love them, love them
Put it in your hands, take it, take it
There’s no time to cry, happy, happy
`REM: Shiny Happy People
As expected, I broke my month of sobriety this past weekend. While I behaved Friday, I arguably consumed more than my rightful share of good wine on Saturday evening. It was good wine, good friends, and a bittersweet day, so I felt a little deserving.
While I might have thought I was ready and deserving of libations, my mind and body were obviously not in agreement. I will admit that I do not exactly recall what happened after a certain spot in the evening. I do not remember saying goodbye to our friends (probably good, as I would have been sad), I do not remember the drive back to the hotel (OK, as I was simply the passenger), and I do not remember my husband undressing me and putting me to bed (disappointing that this has slipped my memory).
What do I KNOW to be true?
- I/we did not eat enough or early enough for drinking to be entertaining. I actually felt my heart start racing on Saturday afternoon due to some combination of food withdrawal and the unaccustomed alcohol in my system. Not good.
- I woke up around 2a thinking that the angel of death was upon me. While that did not fortunately occur, I did spend a disproportionate amount of the evening suffering solo on the bathroom floor. Ironically, it was at this same hotel 5.5 years ago that I endured my last true shellfish attack and also spent the night hugging tile. This time though, the blame was mine and mine alone.
- Sunday sucked. My hair hurt, my eyes hurt, my insides hurt, my brain hurt.
- I maintained my food lifestyle choices, although I probably would have been better off just eating a sausage-egg-cheese-bagel or an Egg McMuffin. Healthy food does not soak up poison as effectively; even copious amounts of bacon fail.
- I ended up later consuming at least 4x the alcohol volume in water to attempt to repair some damage. I spent Sunday looking like I was 6 months pregnant.
- I missed feeling exceptional.
- I love, love, love waking up clear. I hate, hate, hate waking up fuzzy.
- I passed out Saturday night, slept horribly Sunday, and barely closed my eyes Monday evening. Even for an insomniac, this simply sucks.
- Sober Sarah might actually be as or more entertaining than her tipped-over counterpart.
- My body was ANGRY. It fought every nutrient I stuck in it. My insides roared, roiled, boiled, and screamed. I can say with certainty that no evening or wine is worth that.
- I was STILL suffering on Monday morning and into the afternoon. While this did not preclude me from going to both my trainer and my favorite spin class, I was concerned about sharing some projectile vomiting during those two painful hours. I also did not have the endurance, the strength, or the motivation that I have grown happily accustomed to. How did I compensate? By turning into a Superhero of course.
Lessons. At 41, I am still learning and living lessons. My most important one of the weekend? While complete and utter sobriety is not in my DNA, a relatively alcohol-free normalcy probably is…and should be. And when I do fall down into the wine barrel? Well, then only the right Superhero socks will get me through.