You'll notice I haven't said anything along the lines of the last drink I will ever have was on Friday. It's still not a concept I can entertain, I just can't conceive of it - never to drink ever again? Hey?! (More on this in the next post).
So, it is very much one day at a time at the moment, and with the very short-term and specific aim of getting me to my new job and being able to complete those three little hours to 8pm without exhibiting obvious symptoms of withdrawal - and, believe you me, they would have been obvious.
Already though, I feel one hundred times better than I have for a long, long, time. I no longer wake up wishing I hadn't, wishing I had died in the night and wanting nothing more than to return to sleep.
It's still a bit tough - my previous supervised detox have lasted five days on drugs, and that, they told me was enough to get all the alcohol out of my system. So this is day three and I'm still leaning heavily on the Diazepam and the zonk out antidepressants to make it through each day, but I am absolutely confident I can make it through what I have to today to become a member of the workforce again.
My energy levels are through the roof - comparatively: they were under the floorboards until last week. I'm eating better - I just had breakfast! One small step for you, you lucky bastard, one giant leap for a would-be recovering alcoholic.
I'm managing to do so much more. Stupid little things that I previously left to the long-suffering Mrs Cardiff Drunk - who must have wished she'd never got involved with this seeming stroppy, lazy teenager from hell (I'm 37, but, it's very true to say that I've never grown up properly). Washing is getting done, clothes are being put away.
All I did previously was make the evening meal for when she got home and did a bit of food shopping. This, I fit round my drinking. I was so paranoid and nervous I hated leaving the house during daylight hours and my drinking began, like clockwork, at 4.30pm. So I'd delay going to the shops until at least 3.30pm when the winter twilight started to close in. The walk back from the shop would put me past the pub at just about the right time and in I'd be, with my paper and my three or four pints.
Those pints gave me enough energy to do the day's washing up and start cooking. If I'd been given a task to complete - some tidying or vacuuming, I'd rush round then and make a half-arsed job of it at the same time.
I'd always come home from the pub with my four cans from the corner shop to finish the job and get me to sleep. How things have changed in just a few days.
Yesterday I washed a load of work clothes, I also shaved off about three months growth of beard - not an aesthetic decision that horrid ginger growth, just sheer lack of willpower, energy and drive to do anything. The plan today is to go out and buy an ironing board to finish my transformation (Mrs Cardiff Drunk works in a 'creative' position in the arts which allows her a great deal of leeway in her appearance - not that she doesn't always look lovely of course.)
That may be too much.
But the minimum I WILL achieve today is a clean and smart appearance for work. I've managed breakfast already and lunch will follow - probably kippers, natures finest fast food I'm sure. And, to make it there with all the paper work I need, on time and NOT IN A STULTIFYING FROZEN PANIC, CONVINCED OF MY INABILITY TO MANAGE AND OF IMPENDING DISASTER.
If I do that I'll be immensely pleased.
Danger lurks though - I'll have done something, something I might even think is worthy of reward, and the only reward I've even known is... Yes, you probably have guessed it - it comes in large glasses or metal containers with ring pull sealants.
Still, onward and upward.
If you spent it, thank you for your time. It's time for a fag and another cup of herbal tea (I'm trying to lay off the caffeine - I tend to overdo anything in anyway psychoactive and uppers tend to demand a downer to level things off and, you've guessed it, that comes in large glass or metal containers with ring pull sealants.