Recently in On Being an Alcoholic Category

I was speaking with an AA friend yesterday, and we got around to talking about our days as bar drinkers.  She said that she was always a lightweight, and I told her that I was a heavy-hitter.  I used to drink most of the men under the table as I downed shots of tequila.

For what it's worth, I don't recommend doing that, even if you're not an alcoholic.  Oh the pain of the next day!

My friend was surprised by my revelation.  "I can't see that at all.  It's the total opposite of how you are now!  You're so feminine."

It was my turn to be surprised.

She's not the first one to comment on how ladylike I am, how feminine I am.  But that's not how I see myself at all.  I'm used to thinking of myself as a tomboy; I know I was one growing up.  Skinned knees, dirty clothes, messy hair and bruises were normal for me.  I'd rather be playing ball with the boys than playing with Barbie or having tea parties.  I couldn't stand the thought of being girly and have always tried to be tough, like the guys; I was scornful of girly-girls.  The only way you'd get me in a dress would be to force me, and even then you'd have one heck of a fight on your hands!  First you'd have to be able to climb to the top of the tree to get me, then figure out how to get me out of it without either of us breaking a limb or two.  And I don't mean branches!

I'm not quite sure when this changed.  I know that in college I began to care more about how I looked, how my hair was styled and that my make-up was ok.  I never wore much make-up; I liked to look natural.  I still do, though now you can tell when I am (or am not) wearing it.

As I my drinking progressed, though, I couldn't be bothered to take a bath very often.  Clothes?  I would wear the same things day after day sometimes.  Make-up?  Maybe,but probably not.  It depended more on how much money I had.  If I had enough money to pay for my own drinks then I wouldn't be too bothered about how I looked.  But if I was low on cash, I'd make more of an effort. That way I could "cute" my way into getting guys to buy me drinks.  Naturally this was before I met Randy.

I don't think anyone would have called me "girly" during that time period.  They had other names for me.

Once I got sober I started to take better care of myself, much to the relief of everyone around me.  Still, you'd almost never see me dressy.  I feel self-conscious to this day when I look nice.  Not that I look sloppy (except in the privacy of my own home, where I'm usually wearing pajama bottoms and a tank top), but I'm more of a jeans and t-shirt type of woman.

That's how I think of myself: I'd still rather be barefoot, kicking a ball around.  I can't climb trees anymore because of my wrist.  And let's be real: I never actually do kick a ball around, and I'm rarely outside.  I hate the bugs.  I'm not sure when they began to bother me so much, but they do.  As a kid I used to love camping; I haven' t been in about 20 years.

I still wear jeans and t-shirts, but usually at work.  When I go out, if I'm wearing jeans I usually dress them up with a nice top and shoes.  Even at my most casual, I have to look nice. 

And I wear skirts and dresses.  Sometimes.

When did the feminization fairies pay me a visit?  And what did they slip me so that they could take over my mind and body, and not remember their visit? 

Because, as it turns out my friends are right and I'm wrong.  I may think like a tomboy, but somewhere along the way, I became a woman.

At least they haven't taken away my ability to swear like a sailor when the mood strikes, so I'm still in there somewhere.

I went to Harold's celebration and, happily, discovered that it was two other acquaintances' anniversaries as well.  It was a great meeting, made even more so by having an opportunity to catch up with an old friend with whom I'd had a falling out.  We talked for an hour after the meeting ended and, though we never once spoke of the night that we walked away from our friendship, I felt as though we were tacitly telling one another that it's okay now, that we're okay now.  We'll never be the friends that we were before, and that's okay, too.  But we like and respect one another, and can enjoy each other's company when we meet.

Relinquishing old anger and pain releases me in return.

I haven't slept well the past couple of nights.  I was anxious Monday night because I had to attend the luncheon for scholarship recipients on Tuesday, and I knew that I was expected to say a few words.  I never fell fully asleep that night, edgy as I was.  The luncheon actually went very well.  The donors were kind and took a real interest in us.  I'm very shy, but I made it through gracefully I believe.

I was extremely tired for the rest of the day but, being me, got a second wind in the evening and had trouble falling asleep, and then staying asleep.  You know that old commercial "Gotta go gotta go gotta go right now?"  Well, that was me last night, and it kept waking me up.  The profound desire not to sleep in a puddle drove me out from under the covers, covers over which Randy and I kept fighting, and in which I didn't wish to swim.

It wasn't conducive to sleep.

Though tired, I made it through today rather well.  A couple of my friends celebrated their anniversary tonight at my former home group, and I went to be with them.  I haven't been to that meeting in over a year due to scheduling conflicts and, to be honest, a need to take a break from them.  Being there gave me a chance to catch up with some friends who I haven't seen in a long time.  These are people who I usually only came across at this particular meeting, and it was great to see them again.  I'll probably continue to pop in every couple of weeks over the summer to visit with them some more.  I also discovered that one of my favorite people in the program, Harold, is celebrating 28 years on Friday night, so I'm making it a point to go there, too.  I just love this old guy.  His son is in the program and, in fact, lives with my biological father's ex-wife, mother of the half-sisters I don't know.  Small world.  I don't hold that against him, though.  Both father and son are kind, funny and intelligent.  There are people in this life who touch you, and you may not even know why, but they do.  Harold is one of those people for me.

I guess that's it, that's all that's going on.  Oh, someone asked about the party my SIL called me about, the one with the "romance enhancers" for sale.  That's not until July 11.

I'll be sure to fill you in when it happens.

*G*

I've been "off" this weekend.  Physically, I've had a strange feeling of discomfort located at the lower sternum/upper stomach region; I'm still not sure what that's about.  I'm not nauseous or in pain, just uncomfortable and a little achey.  Today I also had a shaky, hypoglycemic feeling even though I had eaten a sandwich and a small candy bar before it started.   It wasn't caffeine-related; the shakes were different and I had already switched to decaf.

Even more troubling- to me at least- was a sense of disconnect.  I had to force myself to go to my AA meeting; I wasn't sick enough to use that as an excuse to skip it and isolate.  Once there, I felt out of sync with everyone.  I couldn't track with them, with what they were saying.  I drifted from group to group of friends before the meeting started, but felt that my responses to them were somehow wrong.  I wasn't a step ahead of where they were, or a step behind; I was a step or two to one side, if that makes sense to anyone other than me.   I don't believe anyone noticed, but I grabbed one of my closest friends there and told her what was going on with me.  She asked if I'm manic, and I honestly don't know.  I don't have that fey feeling I usually get when manic.  I suspect that this has something to do with suddenly having nothing much to do after having to do so much for so long; it's taken a mental and emotional toll. 

You know that head rush you get when you've stood up too fast, or if you've been sick in bed for awhile?  That sense that the world has slipped sideways for a moment?  That kept happening to me while I was at the meeting, and I tuned in and out of what was going on around me.  I'm not depersonalizing.  I don't feel as though I'm outside of myself watching me.  I came home and curled up in bed for a few minutes, and it suddenly struck me how weightless I felt.  I don't mean that lighter-than-air feeling you get when you're really happy.  This was ephemeral, as though a breeze would not simply blow me away, but dissipate me like vapor.  I wasn't real.  I wasn't solid. 

I'm a little better, I haven't yet completely reconnected.  Now it's as though I'm real and the world isn't.

You don't mind being imaginary for a little while, do you?