Self-Medicating with Merlot
Last Post: 2005. Where ya been, Dani?
So I made the commitment to set up a website and start my own blog. I'd blogged when I was active with the Wet Noodle Posse, but had reduced my on-line networking while I dealt with some Real Life stuff. It wasn't that long ago, though. I went looking for my account on Blogger.
Oh. Last post 2005. Maybe I should address that little drop off the edge of the earth.
Let's see, early in 2005, we accidentally sold our townhouse and had nowhere to live. Right. So we hopped in the car and drove until we could afford a real house and wound up eight hours from Vancouver. It was all good. Hubby got a job and I was happy because I thought I could stay home and write full-time.
Good ol' forest industry, however, began to cough like a car with condensation in the tank. I started picking up piece work writing for the local paper. Look at me, writing for a living. Not publishing the novels I was finishing at a delightful rate, but still.
Then, in the space of a couple of months, our lives turned upside down. I handled it all okay. I began working full-time so we didn't starve. I had an amazing massage therapist on speed dial who ground the knots out of my back and shoulders. At one point, however, I jokingly told her I was self-medicating with merlot and she said, "You can't let your kids see that."
My kids did see it. Often. Ew.
Now let me be straight. I wasn't falling down drunk every night, but very few nights went by when I didn't have at least one glass of red wine. I read something about taking a thirty-day challenge. Easy-peasy, I thought. I went years without drinking before we had kids and again when I was pregnant and nursing. Thirty-days to prove I wasn't a drunk would be a cake walk. I went cold turkey.
And lasted five days. Double-ew.
I went to the doctor. I said, "I'm having trouble sleeping and wonder if I could have a couple of anti-depressants to help shut my mind off." She told me how you have to commit to anti-depressants and it takes months for them to be effective and wrapped up with, "Why don't you tell me why you think you need them?"
"Well," I said, "...blah, blah, blah (*details with-held, see WNF post)...and I sometimes wake up and think about all this. If I could just have three or four sleeping pills...?"
She said, "Here's forty."
I filled the prescription then came home and googled it. It scared me. I decided to stick with the red wine, but cut way back.
On the plus side, I can now recommend some very affordable, very drinkable wines. See posts to follow.