My sister stopped by, my sweet niece in tow, to deliver my birthday gift, a lovely handmade bracelet with the inscription, “She believed she could, so she did.”

What a lovely sentiment and just the boost I needed to get me through day 3. The messages come when they are most needed.

Day 2, and I’ve already flossed twice, which is two more times than I flossed last month.

Today was good. Sunny, breezy and 70 degrees. I also got a surprise that my sweet husband would be home early and I did, of course, have a thought of “Well, I could start again tomorrow.” He talked me out of it with a simple, “No, I don’t want you to …” and that was all it took.

There are going to be more nice days ahead, more surprise early nights for him. There’s always going to be a reason to say, “Well, maybe today …” so no time like the present to tackle the issues. It’s only 90 days - and 90 days I sorely need. It will be so good for my psyche and my body. I’m not begrudging this … much. But I’m still wrapping my head around it, as I think my sweet husband is.

He’s supporting me in his way, even if he did drink tonight. He asked if he “could,” if it would bother me. I told him I wasn’t sure...

I know, I know - day 1, and I’m already thinking how easy this will be. But it’s interesting how sometimes it’s easier to do something when someone says, “Hey, you should stop drinking for a while,” versus the chatter in my head saying, “You should stop drinking. And lose 15 pounds. And find a new job. And declutter your closet. And clean the damn bathroom already.” On and on and on my brain goes.

The kindly Orthodox Jewish counselor just said: No drinking, 30 minutes of exercise a day and meditation. It’s just that simple.

Last night was fine and pretty much par for the course for early days of not drinking. I was in bed reading by about 10, zonked out by 10:30, awoken around 12 by my sweet husband and then I tossed and turned all night.

But - BUT - I didn’t wake up hungover.

I have yet to get to the glorious sleep that is promised in sobriety. I am hopeful, though, as I never...

Welp, the counselor made the very suggestion that I thought he would: I should give up drinking … but just 90 days. “Most people would say they could not drink 90 days. Let’s try.”

I sputtered a bit, and he pointed out that I was sputtering because I have a relationship to alcohol. No doy, sir. “If I asked you to give up cauliflower for 90 days,” he said, “You might think I was a bit nuts, but you could do it no problem. That’s because cauliflower is emotionally neutral.”

I’m glad I mentally prepared for it, or else I might have been a bit defensive. 90 days he said to “re balance” my mind and help me find the excitement in everyday life. Our path, he told me, is to try and dissolve some long-term, low-level depression I’ve been living in. Pretty spot on, actually. To the outside world, I’m getting it done. But I know inwardly that all is not well. So, low-grade stuff but debilitating...

Feeling guilty because I haven’t called my sponsor in some days. Feeling guiltier still because I haven’t wanted to talk with her (avoidance? I’m not sure). Also feeling pissed off because she hasn’t called me, either. So, perhaps I’m imposing a bit of a stand-off … which is silly because the only one I’m hurting is me.

So, then I’m back to guilty. But oh-so-happy to be home. And feeling something like anticipation for my counseling appointment tomorrow. I’m a bit worried about the reckoning for drinking but not even really worried about that. It’s not as if anyone can force me into anything and when I check in with myself about how I might feel if the doctor does, in fact say, “You need to stop drinking,” I think my response would be, “OK. It’s probably going to be tough, but if you think I should, I’ll give it a go.”

Not resistance, exactly; skepticism is probably a better...

Because it never does, except in my mind.

I could get fired because the dog tore a hole in the carpet, the washing machine flooded the basement and they didn’t like the way I put the sheets on. Plus, the dog could have choked on his food and died in the 17 minutes that he was alone.

These are some of the anxieties running through my head at the moment. All of them are fairly ridiculous and, yet, not so unrealistic, either.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can and the wisdom to know that some things are entirely out of my hands and, honestly, if I get fired, it may actually be the best thing for me.

I just hate disappointing people. I really do.

I went to a GA meeting this afternoon; I was trepidatious about this one. The meetings I fear the most tend to be the ones that are most valuable. A big group, about 20 people, of all shapes, sizes, colors, classes and creeds; they’re my favorite kind.

The topic this week has been slips, which is entirely fitting, of course. The general consensus is that slips happen when we forget how bad things were. That’s true in my case. Add in some rationalization, minimizing and, probably most importantly, access to money and - bing, bam, boom - I’m back action.

And the group-think (myself included) is that slips happen long before we gamble, as early as the thought that you could/might/maybe gamble. For me, it’s important to note there’s a difference between thinking about gambling, and thinking that I could gamble and here’s how I’d do it.

I frequently think about gambling and can see...

How familiar this is. How comforting. How sad. Drunk again, although that’s not quite fair. I’m drinking Sleepytime tea after half a bottle of vodka. I’m still plenty coherent to type. So, not rip-roaring. But also not happy.

Oh, bother. Day 1 again, starting tomorrow. I did do some good things today but they were eclipsed by three glasses of bourbon.