This is what this is like.

I'm agitated as hell. I want a fucking drink. Specifically, I want a bottle of wine and I think maybe I'll just say fuck it and go get one. I haven't decided to quit yet, after all. I can still drink.

The agitation stems from nothing more or less than real life, unsoftened by the pleasantly hazy edges that have usually obtained by this time of day. Granted, the current outlook of "real life" is a bit grim, with or without the haze. So I guess I should say that the agitation stems from certain bits of the reality I've created for myself (damn damn damn) sneaking past my defenses and biting me on the ass.

The past couple years I've read off and on about mindfulness and done some meditation, though not consistently. (Am trying to get that going again.) One of the interesting things I learned is a useful cognitive trick of sorts. There you are in a certain moment, let's say a particularly shitty one. What mindfulness asks of you and enables you to do is to simply observe that fact. You can observe the feeling; you can observe yourself feeling the feeling. You can tell yourself: Wow. So this is what this is like. What happens next is (briefly) liberating: by making these observations, you recognize that you are not your feelings.

So. Right now I feel deprived, angry, anxious, and terrified. I'm terrified that I may be an addict who may be living with an addict. I want comfort. I want the gentle fuzzy edges that will seem, convincingly at first, to offer a different perspective on my reality. I want what the amazing Caroline Knapp (author of Drinking: A Love Story) describes as "the warming, melting feelings of ease and courage." I want, I want, I want.

And this is what this is like.