Words to Write

Hunh?!   I’m not sure where to even start tonight.

Last night, I logged on to the Socially Transmitted Disease known as Facebook.  The first post that popped up was a testemonial from a dude that I know.  It was an anniversary date that he had given up alcohol and tobacco.  He wasn’t afraid to address the struggles that he still faces.  It took some balls to write it and an even bigger sack to hit submit for the whole world to see.

I don’t know the stories that led up to him being done, and I don’t necessarily need to.  Hats off to him for having the will-power to do whatever he needed to do.  And for having the intestinal fortitude to stare the problem(s) in the face and keep on keeping on.  And this is where I should stop, type Have a good one and a better one tomorrow and hit “publish”.

I know that I have to be aware of my own situation.  I wasn’t an avid tobacco user in high school or college.  I haven’t had any of it in any form since 1991, but there are times that I still crave it.  I only occasionally used it for about 6 years, but 27 years later, at times, it still beckons.  I grew up around it.  Dad was an avid smoker/chewer.  Granny was a smoker till the end.  So, I occasionally get my fix by going to Charlie’s.  Then, I remember why I don’t like tobacco smoke.

I’ve never been addicted to soda pop of any kind but I dang sure enjoy the feeling of a fresh Mountain Dew and I know that I have to walk away from it from time to time.  I can tell you what quick stops have it in a fountain and mixed strong.  I don’t hit them often, but when I pass them of a morning, I rarely just drive by.  Kela got hooked on Dr. Pepper at a young age.  She could smell if it was Dr. Pepper, Dr. Thunder or Mr. Pibb.  We had to monitor her for years.

I’ve never smoked any weed nor done any kind of drugs.  But, I’ve seen what it can do.  I’m kind of scared to take any pain pills.  That broke effing toe about did me in this spring, but I never took any pain meds.

I could never be a wino.  I like a good glass of wine.  Rarely, two.  Scotch–ewww, nope.  Bourbon?    Especially in the cold months, I enjoy an ever so smooth bourbon on the rocks.  Irish Whiskey?   I really like a Tullarmore DEW.    I kind of have a built in safety mechanism when it comes to these beverages.  If I have the second glass, I better be near a couch as I am about to go smooth out.  As a result, I won’t have any of these unless (1) I am at home (2) have a driver to get me home or (3) high end steak house and an uber is coming to get me.

Now, a cold beer!?  Phff!   Dude, it ain’t no secret that I have caused myself a bit of grief or two before because of it.  For some reason, I have an extremely high tolerance to the stuff.  You could use the stereotype of German/Irish/Catholic.  Sure, that applies.  Maybe even just a straight genetics argument would apply.  Or just a build up of tolerance.  I don’t know.  Does it matter?  Yes.  No.  Always.

Back in the day, I let a job that I didn’t want eat me alive.  And every so often, I would binge.  Then, I would wake up pissed off at the world, my job and myself.  So, I would attack the job harder for that week until I got a few hours free, normally on Sunday afternoon.  Then, I would attack my personal projects on that Sunday afternoon and start all over again.  It wasn’t a good cycle.  And finally that cycle came to a halt.  That experience is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.   There is not enough space for me to describe the good.  The bad–I can hit it quickly–I was glad that my grandparents had passed and didn’t have to witness.  And I am sure that there were some others embarrassed.  Anytime, anywhere, that you want the rest of the story, hit me up.  I will tell it.

How do I manage?   It ain’t hard.  Put me in situations where I can’t or shouldn’t.  I don’t.  I had a horrible day this past Monday.  Work wasn’t fun, I came home to a shit-show.  Duke couldn’t get off work until dark.  I caught and sorted calves by myself.  (Duke’s not mine).  I had them loaded and in the trailer when he got home.  I wanted to crack one but we were headed to Beaver.  So, I behaved.  End of story.

Moral of this story, I am capable of screwing up.   I respect when somebody says they are done.  No matter the problem, sometimes, one just has to walk away.


Happy Thanksgiving.



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