A VERY SOBER WEEK

When your social life revolves around two main food groups - coffee and alcohol - it can come as quite a shock when, having given up the latter for a week, one might find oneself sitting around the table, craving that long forgotten entity known as bed rather than craving another gin and soda with friends. I wanted to prove that it was possible, maybe even enjoyable, to spend a night out with friends who were all satisfyingly numb, their minds floating atop the bubbles in their sparkling wine and cider, but I, straight as an arrow in the blinding light of the city, peering into my glass of squash with a rare clarity usually reserved for cinema multiplexes and Ikea. 
The first two days were strange. Working in a bar and not drinking is like working in Topshop naked. When you're the difference between a half-tipsy hipster on a monday night enjoying another $2 pot or him stumbling home to his share house in Fitzroy, it can be quite an effort not to indulge in a cheeky glass of wine post service. It is, undoubtedly, a part of our culture. Dinner? Sure, what are we drinking with these delicious fish tacos? Drink? Sure, red or white? It's just who we are, how we connect, how we relax. 
But I remember a time when tea and a tim-tam had the same sort of relaxing effect on me. When dinner meant the heady scent of bolognese wafting through the house. But we grow up. We indulge in chasing an oblivion wherein which our minds can drift. But what are we running from? Or is it merely habit? Society? In which case, please, let me not conform to this stream of mind-numbing behaviour.
After a few days, I felt cleaner, leaner. Both in mind and body. And then, I got sick. It was like my body thought it would be funny to point out just how cruel I had treated it lately. 'Hey Annie', it would say, 'screw you. Yeah. That's me, your liver. And I'm itchy'. I was forced to stay at home. Contemplate the work ahead of me with a chesty cough and enough tea to satiate Northern England. I even cooked dinner and made dessert for my boyfriend. What? This is not normal behaviour. An apron was worn, floors were cleaned. My house looked clean. My face looked clean. I felt a mixture of contentment and discontent. A weird, almost sober tipsiness induced from a clarity that I hadn't felt for a time longer than I'd like to admit. Suddenly, I noticed the kindness in my best friend's eyes, the sound of my lover's voice. I thought how incredible my mum had been to raise two girls and work full time as an editor. I was in awe of the people around me. No word of a lie. I felt that my brown eyes were suddenly browner, keener, richer for seeing the world clearer.
I am not an alcoholic. I wouldn't say that. No. The world I live in just includes wine. It includes Hendricks. IT INCLUDES REKORDELIG, and, so help me God, I will enjoy those fine drops in this short life. But I think, now, that maybe this life might be longer with a little less liquid confidence and maybe, just maybe, I will make it home before 1am. At least on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. I also quite liked seeing the loves of my life in all their glorious, spectacular lucidity. And that is worth raising a glass to. Cheers.