Evangelism warning

I had a wee revelation last night or this morning. This is what I get for not drinking. Nothing last night, nothing the night before. That will be 72 hours if I can go another evening. I suppose I could go to bed and masturbate; there are worse ways for a girl to pass the time - such as spend the time in the company of her useless stinky lying lug of a husband ... or drinking I guess. The skin and eyes are already looking better and my brain seems to be functioning on more than a mere brace of cylinders.

Now I had feared on Wednesday night that abstinence would be pointless since he'd be off to his mother on Sunday and come back with more of that delicious Belgian-style Carlsberg beer - yes it is Carlsberg (usually undrinkable piss), yes it is 'Belgian-style'. Believe it or not, it works. As it happens he's blown this month's pay already and won't be buying much of anything for another 12 whole days, which gives my liver &etc a lovely long rest as long as I can retain this level of self-control.

Now I was aware when I posted on the subject of this border-line dependency a few days ago that I sounded whiny and lacking in self-awareness; blaming my problems on him rather than taking responsibility for myself. I wrote the piece anyway, just because I don't like him and it felt good.

But I do know the solution is in my own hands. The problem is I fear what I might become. Like one of those frightful reformed smokers, holier than thou types who rush around stubbing out other people's perfectly lawful cigarettes while extolling the virtues of reclaiming one's nicotine virginity I'd have to make a stand - LOUDLY.

I'd have to make a declaration of intent, I'd have to become a Born Again Non-Drinker. I'd have to become one of those intolerably smug bores I dislike so much.

Big sigh.

Oh, and there's the weight issue. I can't afford to by any new clothes so if any more weight does come off, you're all going to be in deep shit with so many extra acres of my lily-white flesh on parade. Sorry.