Dry

It's an odd thing, to blog about how much you drink, or how much you don't. I do odd things, though...

For the last several weeks, I'd zip home from work and crack open a beer, and several (less than six, invariably) of its little brothers. It gets to be a habit. Sometimes, it gets to be a little more than that. There are several things I've come to dislike about my afternoon ritual; chief among them, the bleached-out feeling my body has the next morning.

Not hung over, but certainly and significantly minus the zest for life. It feels very much like my vital organs have been thoroughly rinsed of some essential chemicals they normally produce, the ones that put a twinkle in my eye, and pep in my step. Like I said: not hung over. No nausea nor headache, and it leaves me with a perfectly reasonable amount of energy and alertness, but not a bit more. It occurs to me that if I didn't drink on such a regular basis, this effect wouldn't be so prevalent. Apparently, it's a cumulative efffect.

That, plus weight gain and low resistance to voracious snacking are enough to give one pause to look around and take stock of just how one got here. The truth is, I have no problem with chemically tweaking your mood or even consciousness. Coffee, pot, alcohol, any reasonable adult should be able to avail himself of these, as long as he keeps his head on straight. Perhaps I am straightening my head at this point.

But like I said, it's become a habit, and not an altogether good one. This is particularly unfortunate, as I am very much a creature of habit. It is similar but distinctly different from what I'd call an addictive personality. I get in my ruts and I stick with them, generally. But as I've gone along, I've looked for reasons to enjoy loosening up with a small gaggle of beers, and that's fine by itself. Now I find that I must reacquaint myself with the reasons for not drinking. I find it useful to list them here:

• The morning after - even when hangover is not a concern, I find that his milder, sneaky little brother (shall I call him "Hangunder?") is a regular, unwelcome guest the next morning, after as little as two glasses of wine. When I don't drink, I can greet the next morning with energy, optimism and mirth that delights others and myself. I am often that obnoxiously happy jerk that people love to hate. How can I give that up?
• The crash - after the period of euphoria and well-being pass, and they always do, I find myself tired, irritable and generally wrung-out. I justify it to myself by noting inwardly that I would usually be spent by this time of night anyway, so I'm really not missing out. There is truth in this marketing message from my indulgent self, but it is not absolute. Yes, I get tired at the end of the day even without beer, but it is not such a wearing and cranky fatigue as sets in after a few Heinekens.
• Constipation. 'nuff said.

So, although contemplating the benefits of "not drinking" seems at first a meditation of the blandest sort, it turns out to be a worthwhile endeavor. It reveals benefits that are subtle but run deep. They're worth exploring.