11:12 AM, Thursday, June 20th, 2019:
This is a strange entry because I feel compelled to write it although I'm not sure it applies to me. I'm certain I needed to take a break, but people associate so much with admitting that - it muddies the water.
So a few days ago I decided to stop drinking for about a month (before France). The reason? My tolerance is so high now. A couple drinks does nothing to me. I only drink at the end of the day as it signals I'm done with my responsibilities. Of course I've noticed that since "Fastest Delorean" started it is indeed EVERY day... but since it's never kept me from those responsibilities, I've never thought much about it. However over the past several months I've noticed I can drink 5-6 ounces of WHISKEY and barely feel it.
Even stranger? No hangover the next day. Maybe a little achy or creaky but totally normal for my age. And mind you, if I didn't feel after what amounts to FOUR SHOTS? I made another drink. Another drink with another 2-3 ounces. If it takes 9 ounces (6 shots) to get a buzz? You're in bad shape no matter how well you meet your responsibilities, no matter how well you're functioning. That's scary.
So here's the problem with writing this: I hate assholes who want so badly to be dramatic they adopt some "ism". It's offensive to people actually struggling and especially since "The Journey" is public it almost elicits an eye roll. I have nothing actually negative to report here other than the amount. Never affected my work or my production-level, I've never been close to a DUI, it's never caused me to slip my dick into someone by accident. I've never hit my kids, my wife... In fact it has indeed allowed me to juggle IMMENSELY stressful shit all day and hit the RELAX button so I can be goofy dad with the kids. So this is all strange to write and/or admit...
...but Talya's concern makes it a no-brainer. She internalizes it as if I'm somehow stressed about HER. Every husband reading this has to be shaking his head right now - LOL. Isn't that so couplehood? Every time you're ever annoyed or stressed they think it's because of them? She just equates any drinking with an "escape" as if it's a sign I'm secretly unhappy and man - this is SO NOT THAT. And I have no way to prove it other than just stopping. Ya know? Like I can unequivocally say I have never been happier or even DREAMED I could be this happy with my home life. All I want to do is spend time with my family. Just look at The Journey! No, for me, a drink just means "ALRIGHT! CAN'T WORK NOW! I GET TO WATCH SILLY MOVIES AND PLAY GAMES!"
But it's too much. Although three days in and I really feel no different. I do find I have some anxiety about the end of the day approaching and having no good way to unwind (weed just doesn't work the same way for me)... but I have no actual withdrawal symptoms. It's not like quitting coffee. Oh fuck me that's something I would have trouble doing since kids.
And to boot, we're absolutely going to drink in France next month. But hopefully 1 or 2 does the job and a month of abstinence can truly reset that clock.
I just reread this and it does indeed sound like a raging alcoholic making excuses. LMAO. Oh well. This site is about documenting real shit and maybe some day I'll look back on this entry and go "yup, you knew it then". But today I absolutely think I'm just stopping because my tolerance was too high and I don't want to destroy my insides. And I share this because that's what I do. Man, what the fuck is the video for this entry? Ooh I know.
So my longtime friend Marshall is moving out of LA after 20 years and we had a bit of a get together. "Drinks and Minigolf" nights are always my favorite because I don't have to run a tournament, I don't have to worry about kids... it's the only time the backyard really feels FUN. And this was awesome as we played (and drank) for like 6 hours dude. This was also the moment I realized something was off with me...
...the following morning, Marshall and Paddy had to come pick up their cars as they ubered home. Marshall threw up multiple times and Paddy was just WRECKED. Me? Fine. I mean, the sun seemed a little too bright, but I certainly didn't puke and I went about my day like always. My father was in town and it was a great day. For a moment I was even proud of that fact... but then I realized I probably had more than these two... why was I OK? Could it be a couple YEARS of conditioning my body to the abuse? Fuck, me. It suddenly didn't seem cool to me that I was OK. The guys that were on the floor praying to the porcelain God were actually functioning properly - I was on the road to liver damage.
So I guess that means I'm longing for the days of violent vomitting after too many drinks? HA. Who knows. It's all just another chapter in the Journey.