My glass is empty: Week two & three

Apologies for missing my update in week two. My laptop decided to quit and I got to pay a whole bunch of money to get it fixed. This is what it looked like before I cracked the screen trying to push the loose connection back in. Then it became a creeping line of black blood which eventually engulfed the whole screen. Not at all scary when you've forgotten the last time you backed up your work*

*Reminder to self: back up your shit. 

But brief outline for week two: I didn't drink. 

I did try non-alcoholic beer. I was on a night out and was feeling weird and exposed with my non-drinking. It's odd how much I rely on alcohol to unwind, to make me feel just that little bit more comfortable even with people I know well and places I go a lot. Being sober is different in a place where you're usually drunk. You are so much more aware; of yourself, of others, of the music and the crowd. It's like a crutch you don't need but keep using out of habit. Once you realise you don't need it, you're fine. And yes, I am saying I'm like Watson. (Sherlock nerds will get that. Anyone who doesn't, why aren't you watching Sherlock? It's amazing.) 

I started off well with some tea. But when we got out I thought a fake beer was better than no beer. I felt a bit like this was cheating, but I'm making the rules right? The sugar hangover I had the next day confirmed it I was in fact a big fat cheater pants. You know there is 18 grams of sugar in one bottle of fake beer. I had two. 36 grams of sugar. I cannot confirm or deny which is worse; an actual hangover or a sugar one. They are both gross. Headachy and tired and crappy. So at dinner on Sunday, of course, I had another two. Just for research purposes. Plus I was missing drinking. There, I admit it. It's weird how much it comes up in my life, how left out I suddenly feel. 

Starting my night with a cup of tea. Responsible.

 Moved on to the alcohol free beer and the tiny wolf I called Murphy.

So I survived week two.  Week three was better-ish. I went to a gig of a friends band, Here To Help You Out, and they were amazing. They should play in The Bronze. That's how good they are. Also we need to set that up. Come on Buffy fans, you know I'm right. Go listen to their free EP. I'll wait...amazing right?! Anyway, I spent saturday wandering around town with the bestie doing random things like eating, shopping, looking and glancing. Yes, sounds boring but it was actually great. Especially the glancing. You can steal so much with a glance. Also bought a new notebook for the next story. It's so exciting when it is just a few crumpled ideas in your head forcing their way together into something coherent and alive.

I came to the conclusion throughout week three that I live a less exciting life than I thought. Apparently all I do is work and drink in the whiskey bar. Ah the lies we tell ourselves! I was sure I was social and outgoing and living some exciting adventures. Turns out, nope. I write, I edit, I intern, I drink a few drinks and I swim. I don't really DO anything. It's a nice existence. I don't deny it but I'm 27 not 87.

What do ppl with lives do?! Could someone let me know?! 

I'm a writer, or attempting to be one, so I spent a large portion of my time living in an imaginary world... it's nice there mostly...but it means I don't do much in the real world. When I look up from my laptop and see there's an actual world out there, I get very hyper. If you meet me after a long writing/editing session, I am at my most excitable and charming. Seriously, hang out with me then. I'm the best. Put alcohol into the mix, I'm charming and lovely. And believe me, I'll continue to tell you that fact. All evening.

But anyway, it turns out all I do is work. I mean, why wouldn't I? I've have this amazing opportunity to do what I actually want to do. Instead of working jobs I don't want but that pay me, I'm doing something I adore but has yet to, you know, make me any money. I remain hopeful. When you're given a chance like this, you don't waste it. You grab the damn thing in both hands and you fight until you get what you want. So, everything else has taken a sidebar; social life, men, adventures in the real world and general putting myself out there. Me a workaholic?! Who knew? Pretty sure my friends and family would have confirmed this sad realisation years ago. I need to invest in my social life, if not for my mental health than for my writing. I mean, drinking does not guarantee that you're interesting but if I run out of life experiences I won't have anything worthwhile to write. 

I think I might be boring. Some suggestions to cure this malady would great.

Alcohol has become a way to chill out, to unwind, but it is also a place to hide. Drink in the same bar with the same people and don't ever vary that routine. Because it's easy. And that is what was disappointing with the non-alcoholic beer, because that night, I went to the same bar followed by the same rock bar. Nothing is changing. Even without alcohol. Apparently, it's hard to take risks and throw yourself into life when you want to work as much as I do. Or maybe I'm making excuses, maybe I'm hiding. 

Because I went out into the world. I remembered how fucking awesome life is. And now, I don't want to lose that knowledge. I don't want to take risks, or do anything really, in case I break what I fixed. In case, I end up dark and twisty again. Even if some of my best writing comes from that place. But that's not good. One of my friends told me I keep saying I'm living vicariously through her. I totally am. And through my characters, other ppl stories, their words, songs and adventures. I sit, I observe, I enjoy. But I don't do. My work is quiet and done alone. It's cut me off from ppl, adventures, things, stuff, feelings. And for someone preaching about a big life, about taking risks and doing things; I'm sure as hell not delivering on the advice I'm doling out. 

I'm comfortable, complacent, happy. 

It's such a dangerous thing, happiness. You'll do anything to keep it. Sometimes that means doing nothing. But I only earned it by accepting the possibilities, being daring, doing things. Quitting my job, leaving my apartment, travelling and having faith in my writing. 

So, I'm ending this post with a nod to dark, twisty but risk taking Fran. 

I'm going to find a few new ventures, do some stupid things, create some stories, break a few hearts and figure out how to have a big life when you're not falling.  And I'll  do it all without my crutch, without the silliness that is alcohol.

(The reason I'm doing this can be found here.)
(Week one is here.)