A Hangover of Sorts

Well, that didn’t make me feel any better.

I was just sure that those five pieces of fried chicken, a pint of Blue Bell ice cream and 100 minutes of Ashton Kutcher would do the trick. Once again, I was so wrong. That is the way my best thinking tells me to survive an evening of self-created insanity.

I guess, in a way, it worked as I did survive the night. Although, I woke this morning with a hangover of sorts. I did not want to go to the gym, nor did I want to write this blog. My thoughts were that the gym was an act of futility, doing me absolutely no good. My mind says, “For God’s sake man, let yourself go like everyone else. Embrace the Buddha belly, let your ear hairs grow - you are fifty freakin’ years old!” 

I came very close to logging on this morning and posting a blog saying I was going on hiatus. I just keep thinking that I am tired of hearing myself and reading myself. Blah, Blah, Blah.

My program tells me to get my whiny ass off the couch, get to the gym and then to the keyboard. So, that is what I did. It also tells me to try to eat better today and go see my sponsor tonight. I also suspect I may be back to the 2nd Step again. That is traditionally where I need to go back to when I start getting discouraged about the future of my mental state. I also usually need to get back to the basics of what has worked for me before - things like picking up a new sponsee, doing something that creates a little spiritual excitement or making that amend I have been putting off.

It is alcoholic thinking like this that makes some folks in recovery say that their mind has a contract out on their ass. It’s this kind of thinking that, left unchecked, can lead someone like me to say, “I might as well have a beer with that fried chicken.”

I am just thankful that this morning my hangover is from, animal fat, sugar and self-pity rather than the hooch.

Hold that thought...

James