On Sobriety

A glass just half.

Lockdown.1 was a novelty. Waking up an hour before you were meant to be at your desk was a novelty. Wearing elasticised waistbands all day was a novelty. Staying indoors, all the time, was a novelty. Being a disgusting slob was a novelty. Project cooking was a novelty. Spending every waking moment with your partner was a novelty. Opening a bottle of wine on a Monday was a novelty.

You know, until it wasn’t.

Back then, we were all young and naive and thought lockdown was going to last a couple of weeks.

Idiots.

I don’t know about you, but I turned into a Garbage Person.

For the last few years, I’ve taken a few weeks here and there off drinking. It was never timed in with any virtuous month, but assigned by myself after an extended period of forced drinking (bar awards) or volunteered stupidity (training for a fight). As someone who has worked in and around hospitality for her entire career, there is guilt attached to not drinking. Every seat in a restaurant or bar has the capacity to generate a certain amount of cash, and that number usually has alcohol built into it. So how do you counter that? Order more food? Eat faster? Dine with a heavy drinker? Opt for the temperance pairing that you don’t really want? Stop feeling so damn guilty all the time? Not go out at all?

Thankfully, Lockdown.2 solved that. Surely not drinking in the confines of your own home would be a lot easier.

I was wrong.

Apparently, when it is winter and the sun goes down at 5 pm and I have a shit tonne of booze at home, it is all I think about. It didn’t help that all my friends kept posting all the things they were drinking to occupy their time because, guess what, no one had to do service the next day. Somehow, I managed not to open a bottle of wine, throw back a nip of liquor, suck the alcohol out of a deodorant stick or ‘accidentally’ swallow mouthwash for a whole six weeks.

I’m technically back on the piss, but for the first time ever, I don’t feel the need to jump back into it. It might be maturity (doubt it), it might be old age (probably) it might be isolation (unlikely), but I think my relationship to alcohol has changed. I’ve grown comfortable with how awkward I am in real life that I don’t feel the need to use alcohol to seem charming. Take me as the asshole I am, or, well, just don’t.

I won’t sit here and hype up sobriety, because honestly, it is kind of boring. There is only so much water, tea, kombucha and tears you can drink before you feel like you're drowning. I also don’t think that not drinking is particularly virtuous, it is just a choice. I don’t get some dizzying high, have the energy of a teenager or the skin of a newborn from abstaining. Maybe it is proof that I am truly dead inside. I just wonder how long this will last when we are allowed out of our houses and in venues again. I know I won’t stay dry forever, but for now, I am happy being boring.

What I’m reading:

Catch and Kill, Ronan Farrow. This book spans over the two year period it took Farrow to expose Weinstein. While the content is completely expected, what surprised me is Farrow’s anxious, isolated voice that perfectly paints how he was (almost) intimidated into silence.

What I’m eating:

I might not be drinking fermented stuff, but I have been eating fermented stuff. Mumchan sells home-style Korean dishes, pickles and banchan. When I worked in the city, I used to head to its Little Collins Street branch, grab a bunch of side dishes and eat it with rice or kimbap. I’m a big Mumchan fangirl and I love that the crew have launched delivery. Another plus is the packaging is all recyclable and suitable to germinate seeds in.

What I’m watching:

Canada’s Drag Race. I know the finale just aired, but I am nowhere close. No spoilers, please.

What I am loving:

Jon Baxter posing with album covers.