Week One--They're round and blue

I'm in big trouble. All week, no matter what horrible things happened that could have caused a potential breakdown, I told myself "It's okay. You can get it all out this weekend at band practice. You are going to drink alcohol and head-bang your way to emotional wellness."

See? I had a great plan on how to end up freaking ecstatically pleased by midnight on Saturday.

The trouble started this past Monday--T minus 5 days to band practice/sweet mental health. Monday I freaked out and decided that I am not a fun person if I do not drink. That should not have been a news flash, but due to some pre-existing self-doubting tendencies, I took the realization pretty hard. WHY AM I NOT FUN??????
So I contacted a long-time friend of mine who is accustomed to dealing with my hyperbolic reactions to small-picture problems. He had the following "great idea": "Hey Cuppycake, why don't we just both stop drinking alcohol for 30 days? That way you will prove to yourself how very fun you are just being you!"

We are no longer friends.

Unfortunately I made the commitment and there is no turning back now. To back out would be worse than if I had never made the no-beer pact in the first place, because it would PROVE that I am indeed some sort of a low-level fledgling alcoholic. It's no disorder to NOT make a pact and continue drinking normally, but to make such a deal and be unable to keep it is definitely borderline. So I'm stuck. But hey! Who cares!? I AM fun! I think I remember having fun before I started drinking, so surely I must be able to do so once again. I was pumped.

Monday afternoon panic set in. I have to go home and go to bed without a beer? How can that be? Where am I?

Tuesday was no better, as panic attacks seem to go hand in hand with big life decisions. You may have noticed a lack of blog posts on Monday and Tuesday of this week, as I was otherwise occupied closely monitoring my internal organs to make sure they did not leap through my skin and run out of control, alienating friends and family and oozing all over the furniture.

Wednesday I had a breakthrough. It's possible that I had completed what is commonly referred to as "detox" and was no longer in a state of constant panic.

By Saturday I had hit my stride. "I can do this!"......as long as I get the second half of my plan--hardcore band practice.

I have saved an extra special F U for whatever neighborhood watch toolchest called the fuzz on us after about 15 seconds of warming up. We had to stop just when I was starting to get ready for my big release of anxiety and tension. You gave me band blue balls, and you WILL be punished. I don't know how, but I'm going to get you.

That being said, one week down, three to go. Maybe when the time is up and I can drink again, I'll save my first toasted tinkle for your front doorstep. I'm willing to sacrifice my one small scrap of dignity.

Show me the law that says that I must have more self-respect than Fergie.