Weekends

I had a marvelous weekend. I got up very early both days and enjoyed what seemed like an eternal two days off from work.

I so love the way the light hits my porch in the morning. I stand outside with coffee, smoking on and off, going through my recipe binder and planning my food shopping. It’s very peaceful.

I missed seeing what Saturday and Sunday mornings looked like for so many years. The only time I was up at 9 a.m. on a Saturday was when I drank so much the night before I had blacked out, only to wake up early needing food BADLY. I’d drag my ass out of bed, head pounding, still drunk, to the Mexican place down the street for a fat, greasy breakfast burrito.

As I drove, dizzy, my eyes stinging even behind my sunglasses, I would berate myself for drinking too much, again, not knowing what I said on the phone the night before to whoever was unlucky enough to get a call from me. I’d promise myself I would stop. I’d think about how much I hated myself and how I didn’t want to feel that way any more. I wouldn’t do it to myself again. But I always did.

Now, when and because I make that choice the night before to not pick up that first drink, my weekend mornings and early afternoons are so wonderful. I don’t have to spend them recovering. I go shopping, I meet friends for lunch, I read, I watch my DVR, I cook or bake something complicated. It’s just all so fulfilling, remembering the simple joys of living.

Every time I do this, I am deeply grateful. I hope it’s a long, long time before I lose sight of that.

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