Thursday, January 22, 2015

Dear Dry January. I hate you.

Here's a tip for you. If anyone ever, ever, asks you if you want to do dry January with them - walk away. Don't look back, just keep on walking straight to that delicious bottle of cold beer calling out to you from it's haven of loveliness.

Because Dry January is a crock of shit. A farce that I have been stupidly suckered into.

Of course, like me, you might be tempted after all those excesses at Christmas time. Might think it's just what your mind and body needs. Well, it isn't.

Never have I been as bored, boring or depressed. Three weeks in and I am OVER it. Not only is it freezing cold and miserable - I am freezing cold and miserable. And sober. 

Call me an alcoholic but life just isn't as much fun without alcohol. Friday night is the same as any other night. And Saturday is twice as depressing. Sipping on peppermint tea and watching a Downton Abbey box-set does not a weekend make.

Naturally you will try to compensate for the lack of alcohol in your life with food. cream...cake....chocolate ice cream cake... But it's not the same. And now you've lost the only thing you had keeping you going - the smugness of your 'my body is a temple' conversations. 

Where's the fun? The sparkle? The release?

It's not that I can't do it. I'm just so BORED doing it.

Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored.



Expect a spectacular fall off the wagon come February. I've got some catching up to do. 
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