So I haven’t filled this in in a bit, but I am still on the wagon, though it has been difficult, especially in the run up to Christmas.
It has fully dawned on me that I will be in the presence of my family without alcohol; and I am bricking it. Majorly.
Now no one likes their family at Christmas, and there’s no point going into detail on the reasons why, because we all know why. The mother+THAT aunt+confined space+copious amounts of alcohol= a not very happy you. Some people have the good fortune of being able to bypass this ridiculous annual ritual and spend it with their friends, but no such luck for any child of Afro-Caribbean decent. Oh no. We must endure. And endure we do, usually by downing the Asti and imported rum like it’s mother’s milk.
Now that my coping mechanism has been taken away, I have been desperately trying to think of alternatives. In fact I’ve written a list:
1. Counting to ten
2. Leaving the room for a few moments
3. Crack
That’s all I’ve got to be honest. And option 3 looks a dream.
I need a drink.
My Prohibition. My God. I already miss Gin. 