Wine

I will miss it – I miss it already and it has only been three days, three evenings to be exact.

Three long summer evenings when a crisp cold white would have been wonderful – made all the difference.

Yet.

Wine is a creeping friend that turns into a bitch. It looks friendly and happy in it’s prettily labelled bottle nestled in the fridge.

Festive.

Celebratory.

Very come get me.

Especially after Dry July – a month without – a great cause – I made it through fine.

And had a glass of wine.

Four months later and the one has become two has become three in the evening (glasses – not bottles and not every evening but more often than not – I’m not a complete slosh – just a little one – yet why am I explaining??) and suddenly things are happening.

Or rather not.

Things are not happening.

Dinner is not as beautifully curated. It is instead left to the last minute.

Crap is are all over the place – everywhere, scattered, disordered. The ironing isn’t done every day – things aren’t put away – the kitchen bench is driving me insane!

There are people that would walk in and say “what are you are on about it’s fine – lovely” but it’s not – its just not me as I should be.

I’m cranky – more than I should be.

I’m messier than I would be.

I have a build up of female not exercising frustration. I’m a race horse, a high energy thing. I need to be taken out and run or else..

And I’m not eating healthily, nor swimming – nor spending long quiet moments in contemplative silence over sunsets quietly plotting and planning. Instead the wine is keeping me company and whispering in my ear “stuff it – do it tomorrow” but tomorrow comes along and …”stuff it – do it tomorrow”.

Or it was till three days ago and now I’m getting back to where I should be and I realise it.

Big time. No wine. Wine has got to go.

I will miss it though.

The choice. Sweating fridges, hot days, the thrill of the chase – arty labels, cold bottles all jostling for position. Will it go with Chinese chicken? Who cares – it goes in a glass and I shall sip it.

Wine makes things easier. It makes all the festive occasions with extended family enjoyable and convivial.

It is something everyone shares, does, dooooos darling.

Oh yes please – top it up lovely darling thanks.

Clink clank cheers!

Here’s to!

Even tears.

It goes great with a teary face, a fond embrace – I love you. Oh Meeee toooo. And you really mean it.

But then.

I’m sick of the downside. I’m sick of ending up unbalanced, dehydrated and foggy on only one little bottle on a Friday. I’m sick of reaching for it like a prop at 5 O’Clock. And it’s only Wednesday. But it’s been THAT sort of Wednesday.  I’m sick of saying tomorrow I will and then finding out that I haven’t come tomorrow afternoon.

I’m sick of saying “right – that’s enough for awhile” to find that the finish post has arrived two days later. When I thought perhaps a month would have been greater.

It is a creeping thing.

I’ve done without before – for a month there and once an entire year. It was fine. Well difficult in certain circumstances where everyone was inexplicably annoying and too loud and talking absolute nonsense. And I was stuck there because it was one of THOSE things that I had to attend. Hard to take off.

Like sensible underwear at 3am.

Except I was the sensible underwear.

And I couldn’t escape it.

All night.

That’s sobriety for you.

Pantyhose and gusset.

And everyone just loooooooves that look.

For a non fitter inner wine makes me less square peg in a round hole. It grinds the odd edges off my shape – smooths me in.

Now I haven’t got a smoother or a plane. It is just me. Back to me being a square peg.

Heck!

Things have changed though.

These days I don’t mind my square shape. I like the angles and the honesty of it all. Lets face it wine makes me fake. I didn’t mean to let it but there it is – it did it.

What starts as the usefulness of wine. Being able to laugh at the bore. Smile at the sneer. Listen to the rambling long tongued liar. And nod along. The very fitting in-ness of it wine. Ends up a collusion with the confusion and the world needs less of that.

I mean the lovely people are fine – they always have been but there’s not enough to go around some evenings and sometimes they’re  already taken.

Wine takes.

It takes my kindness and empathy and turns it into something that is all about me instead of them.

With wine in my glass I talk too much and listen not nearly enough. I become tough. Sometimes I even swear and sometimes I laugh and hurt someones feelings inadvertently because my wit (which is quick yet usually does little harm) becomes sarcastic and biting and bitchy. Oh it may be droll and it may get a lot of giggles but in the end, in the end I wonder.

Wine is not for the over thinker the next day. The next day when some can mutter oh well whatever ho hum and really mean it.

I can’t.

I think and think and think

Then think

“Why do I drink?”

Oh dear.

And wine ages me.

Wine unbalances me.

Wine is a liar and a thief of time.  I could be doing something altogether more interesting than sitting doing whatever I do when I’m sipping wine.

Now Christmas is twenty four days away.

Do you think I could have picked a better time? Just given up giving up wine until the new year.

No.

Now or never.

I’m not getting any younger and bodies unlike wine – don’t get any better with age – they just pickle and wrinkle.

Like capers.

I prefer my skin smooth and bright. My eyes bright and clear. And my head clear and sunny. My mood sunny and positive and my entire life less melancholy.

So out with the jolly old bottle of wine. In with the lime and soda. In with the “oh you don’t drink” cold shoulder and the tell myself “I’m better without her ….and the wine”.

And if it’s a little socially awkward I’ll remind myself that I was always socially awkward anyway – this is just more honest and besides these days I would rather quietly talk to myself in the loo then put up with half the rubbish that people carry on with when they’re pissed.

At least I can put up with myself again.

….

My sister will be upset with me.

We do wine awfully well together. She still hasn’t quite gotten over me going Vegan and has no idea what to cook for me – so she just doesn’t. Which I don’t mind because I can bring my own and there’s always wine.

Till there isn’t –  wasn’t – by then it will be wasn’t – is now. IS NOW NO MORE WINE.

My best friend will be too – disappointed that is. Even though she doesn’t drink much – she finds it hilarious when I do and lives vicariously through my foibles and fudges and pokes and nudges until we both just dissolve.

But we’ll probably still do that anyway. Still do a lot of things. Much better things. And at least I’ll be healthy.

Right end of my whine about wine. I’ve given up wine a few times and read a couple of great books on it as well. One is pictured below. I don’t have all the drama that Rachel describes with wine. For me it is just a slowly creeping unbalancer of my life when I let it in (and I rather prefer my life balanced).

Still, it’s a very good book and I’m all about books so here you go take a look. I’ve get to get off this post, I’m sounding like Dr Zeuss!😁💫😊❤️️📚