Three Years

I have been sober, by my own choice, for three years now.

January is a real bastard.  I never realized how bad my seasonal affective disorder was.  It's not the cold, as I prefer the feeling of cold to the feeling of heat.  It's the darkness.  More than a few days, I crawled back into bed during the day, pulled up the covers, and slept.  Not so much a depression.  More avoidance.

I still have the impulse urges, reminders of my old ways which sudden upon me like a flash of lightning.  Last week, as I was driving my son to sports, I drove past a liquor store and thought, "I can stop by there a lit..."

I shake my head.  No, I'm not aching for a drink.  I'm not parked in a liquor store parking lot asking for the justification to stay in my car.  I really do not want to drink again.  I'm not sure where those old habits lurk in my head, but I'm quick to push them back to wherever they came from.

I can say, without a doubt, my life is so much better without the alcohol.

I still won't celebrate until I get to 5 years, and even then I'll only do a steak; ribeye, medium rare, with good blue cheese on it.

Until then, Entenmann's Devils Food double chocolate donuts.  They are what I have when I'm hankering for something.  The craving is not booze, just something. The donuts prevent it from becoming something bad.