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The Hunt for Dry Ocsober
Oct. 13th, 2024 11:17 pmFriends will know quite well that I enjoy a drink. Over the years, I've hosted and attended numerous parties and dinners, following the lifestyle of "le bon vivant", and generally, I make for very good company in these situations. A bottle of wine and a meal between friends is almost guaranteed on entry to my home. However, it must be said that alcohol is a toxin, a depressant, and a carcinogen; it impairs the senses, and it clouds judgement, and that invariably doesn't end well. Such a situation occurred a few weeks ago when a friend, who I care very deeply about, said something that triggered me terribly. I critically failed my Stoicism check and told them to leave - at 3.30 am in the morning. The story is somewhat more complex and messier than that, but now is not the time or place to discuss the details. Whilst numerous dear friends whom I've discussed the matter with are very understanding of my reaction and the context (and I thank you all for your support), I certainly could have handled it better, and I've said as much in correspondence to my still estranged friend.
The practical upshot of this experience is, however, a reconsideration of my relationship with alcohol, the default social drug, even if my own preferences are more psychedelic. The recent incident, the fact that I need to keep my health in check, and I have a doctorate to work on, have all meant that I have (a) given up the drink, at least for a month, and (b) I've added a daily exercise and dietary regimen to my life, which in the past I've become somewhat lackadaisical. Just two weeks into this change of lifestyle, the effects are increasingly prominent. I have greater clarity of mind and better sleep, my driven dysthymia has been reduced, my energy levels are increasing, and I'm shedding kilogrammes quickly. All of this I have done in the past; in 2020, for example, I lost an impressive 25 kilograms over a few months (mainly through diet, cycling and weights), only to have it creep back up as Epicurean lifestyle choices re-asserted themselves. But this time, it feels quite different. I'm even investigating a longer-term plan that includes my age category for the triathlon and pentathlon.
This said, I wish to emphasise that I'm not entirely given up the drink just yet. After all, Luna and I have arranged for a cocktail party at my place on November 1st ("All Saint's Day") for housemates and friends who used to live in either Stawell Street in Burnley or Rushall Crescent in North Fitzroy in the 1990s and early 2000s, which will be a wonderful opportunity for old friends to catch up. I think she's the only one who lived at both abodes. Plus, with a liquor cabinet that contains some thirty bottles of spirits and at least twice that in wines (the oldest being fifty-six years in the bottle), I can hardly let that all go to waste. What I do feel comfortable with is reducing my alcohol consumption to once a month, at those certain events that really matter, and really keeping track of my consumption at such times. A small amount makes for good social lubrication; nothing good comes from a large amount.
The practical upshot of this experience is, however, a reconsideration of my relationship with alcohol, the default social drug, even if my own preferences are more psychedelic. The recent incident, the fact that I need to keep my health in check, and I have a doctorate to work on, have all meant that I have (a) given up the drink, at least for a month, and (b) I've added a daily exercise and dietary regimen to my life, which in the past I've become somewhat lackadaisical. Just two weeks into this change of lifestyle, the effects are increasingly prominent. I have greater clarity of mind and better sleep, my driven dysthymia has been reduced, my energy levels are increasing, and I'm shedding kilogrammes quickly. All of this I have done in the past; in 2020, for example, I lost an impressive 25 kilograms over a few months (mainly through diet, cycling and weights), only to have it creep back up as Epicurean lifestyle choices re-asserted themselves. But this time, it feels quite different. I'm even investigating a longer-term plan that includes my age category for the triathlon and pentathlon.
This said, I wish to emphasise that I'm not entirely given up the drink just yet. After all, Luna and I have arranged for a cocktail party at my place on November 1st ("All Saint's Day") for housemates and friends who used to live in either Stawell Street in Burnley or Rushall Crescent in North Fitzroy in the 1990s and early 2000s, which will be a wonderful opportunity for old friends to catch up. I think she's the only one who lived at both abodes. Plus, with a liquor cabinet that contains some thirty bottles of spirits and at least twice that in wines (the oldest being fifty-six years in the bottle), I can hardly let that all go to waste. What I do feel comfortable with is reducing my alcohol consumption to once a month, at those certain events that really matter, and really keeping track of my consumption at such times. A small amount makes for good social lubrication; nothing good comes from a large amount.
