90 Days Without Alcohol

Today, marks three months since the last time I engaged in the activity of lifting an alcoholic beverage to my lips and savoring the delicious mix of alcohol and bitters with a pitch of regret.  Three months since I last poured gasoline down my throat for hours and was shocked when the next morning I thought there was an higher likelihood than not of imminent death.  (This does not include the sip of Mint Julep I consumed the day of the Kentucky Derby.  When you have a party at your place and are instructing the guests on how to make a proper drink without ever having tasted it, it’s simply uncouth not to perform at least a minor taste test for quality assurance.)  If you had asked me if I could go 90 days without drinking, 91 days ago, I would have said what’s the fun in that.  The answer was not going to the ER because your anxiety and heart palpitations are through the roof.  Even still, drinking is and will remain more fun than not drinking.

However, for the foreseeable future, I will continue to abstain.  It’s amazing how much better you feel on Monday (along with Saturday and Sunday) when you don’t drink your face off on Friday and Saturday nights.  Physically, I haven’t felt as good as I do now in quite some time and it’s hard to return to the days of misery.  Only have a couple drinks then, they’ll say.  What’s the point in that?  The “healthy” quantity barely draws a buzz and simply leads to consuming much more and a night of excess debauchery (not that there’s anything wrong with that).  My mentality has always been zero or (enter the infinity sign here) and for now, zero feels pretty good.  Mentally, I am sharper as well and money that previously would go to the Nomad Hotel Bar or (insert any other hotel bar in NYC) now goes into an ever expanding investment account.

There will certainly come a time when I pucker up and place my mouth on the tip of a champagne flute or whiskey cocktail, but for now, I will spend my weekends in the much more boring and less interesting fashion of sobriety, but at least won’t be surrounded by obnoxious, drunk dopes.  C’est la vie.