Being in bed at 11.40pm on a Friday night used to be the norm for me, in fact, I used to come to bed much earlier than this when I was attached. Since being single, I write this as if this is a relatively new status for me, my nocturnal nature has kicked in somewhat and getting to bed before 1am on a Saturday morning would be classed as early. Tonight though, I’m tired. For once I have decided to listen to my body and come to bed. I should be getting to sleep instead of writing drivel, but some habits are more difficult to kick.

Friday night.

I allow myself some booze on Fridays, if I fancy of course, compulsion to have a drink has thankfully passed me by. Tonight I had available to me: two bottles of Merlot and a Shiraz and I opened bottle #1 at about 7.30pm. By 9pm, I was half way through the bottle, but then something really odd happened: I started to slow down. By the time I’d finished watching a film at 10.30, and no more than three quarters of the way through the bottle, I’d had enough – more than enough.

What the hell is going on with me? This the person who just a few weeks ago would drink into the early hours, until all senses had been obliterated, yet now, my brain just says, I’ve had enough, stop now.

I suppose this is a better late than never scenario, but I do wish this would have kicked in twenty years ago. So much embarrassment, so many horrific hangovers, they would have never blighted my life.

I’d still rather be teetotal. So why not do that? Perhaps I will.

Perhaps, peut-être, forse.

Perhaps is one of those words that I have forsaken in favour of maybe. Perhaps sounds nicer. I must train myself to use it more.

Having been very much under the control of alcohol in my twenties, I did give up and was teetotal for over twelve years. The first few months were a bit of a struggle, what with my thirtieth birthday approaching and having to explain my temperance to those who had known me as a drunken fool. But giving up completely and making that promise to yourself that you will never drink again is far more easy on the soul than just cutting down, or setting a target of not drinking for a set period of time. Just saying, that’s it, I’m not drinking again, helps a person to draw a line under their past so that they can move forward and plan things to fill those goddam awful and lonely boring evenings with.

For me, I started writing rubbish like this; each day, keeping an online diary that helped me reflect on the situations I’d found myself in, ponder on the absurd, wage war on humanity. Not being numbed by booze opened up a life to me, one in which I discovered myself, my love of photographing things, my enjoyment of the world around me. It was easier to balance those things for which I had disdain with those that brought me peace. In just a short space of time, I became fucking awesome.

I’m sure most people have the potential to be fucking awesome, but some hide this so terribly well.

Food? Food is just great, isn’t it? I anticipate sausage this weekend and it will be good.