How am I doing today? I don’t know. I guess bored. Ready to go home. My husband seems distracted, and I wonder what’s behind it. Probably nothing except that we’re both working too much and miss each other.

I had a thought today. This has probably been the hardest week for me workwise but I made it through without drinking and gambling. One more thing off my list of fears. I guess I’m starting to realize that not drinking can be as easy a default as drinking was. I mean, I don’t feel magically better these days but I can trust that what I’m feeling is honest.

Interestingly, I’m going to see my friends Saturday and everyone knows I won’t be drinking. I am actually looking forward to this get together more than I would be if I was drinking. I’m not sure I can articulate why exactly; I just know it’s true. That’s good.

So, good, if not a little ho-hum. I suppose that’s life, eh?

It’s officially day 43 now by a few minutes as I write, and I am grateful. But the fact that I’ve passed midnight means I won’t get 8 hours of sleep; more like 7.5.

I know that to some people, 7.5 hours is a lot of sleep. But I’m not some people. I’m me and, truth be told, I’d prefer 9 hours.

So, I’m now anxious and slightly resentful. My plan is to sleep, and then tomorrow after I get done with work late in the day, I’ll come back to the hotel, order a pizza, watch crap TV and crash early. All will be well.

I swear, when I don’t have something to worry about, I make something to worry about.

Look at me! Look at what I did! 42 days sober, 50 days without a bet! Hot dog!

And, yet, got a reminder that it’s nothing. Nothing. In the best way, of course. Before I get to the positive, let me unload some junk first. I keep wanting to say tonight was the first time I went to a meeting and left feeling worse, but that’s not quite right. Close but not quite.

See, I went to the meeting out of guilt because I was pretty sure my sponsor was going to ream me out if I didn’t. I get there and saw some familiar faces, which is always nice.

I share my bit about my husband taking control of my finances, so proud of myself and expecting congratulations for sacrificing So Hard and Doing It Right, and what I get is feedback from some guy wearing socks with sandals that it’s not enough to just take away the money. That I’ll find a way to gamble if that’s what I really want.

Well, shit. I was...

Man, I just miss home and my husband. I am 3000% sure I won’t drink or gamble tonight (more likely to take a sleeping pill - over the counter - and sack out early. And I’ve got a meeting planned tomorrow night that’s right up the street. Long days away from home are just tough. Hanging in there tonight no problem but I’m going to have to recharge my 12-step batteries tomorrow.

I don’t have MERS, but tell that to my overactive brain, who is fearing my seasonal allergies are something more sinister. No, I am just anxious to be away from home, uncertain at work - especially as my boss is acting as if nothing happened, which is probably best - and tired. Oh, and not feeling well.

Historically, it’s a combination that would either have me at the casino until 3:30 a.m. to drive an hour back to the hotel, sleep 2 hours and then go into the office. Or, I’d come back to the room, drink myself oblivious, eat my way though a buffet of bad decisions, gorge on crap TV, still stay up too late and try to slog through the next day with a soul-crushing hangover. Then repeat the next day. I don’t know how I never landed myself in the hospital behaving like that.

This time ‘round: so far, two sober nights here at the Holiday Inn, bringing my total to 40. I am sure there is a...

I’m traveling again for work, back to the scene of the crime of my last gambling relapse and probably where I realized my drinking had shifted from fun to fundamentally destructive. So I’m crossing off another scary sober to-do: a week sober back in the city I hate being in.

Scratch that. I don’t hate the city. I hate the things I did while here. I hate my attempts to run away. A lot of mistakes made here, a lot of shame. It strikes me as one more reason to bid this job goodbye: no further need to return here and keep reliving one sordid memory after another. Sean on the balcony. Jeremy on the balcony. Aggie. Alan. Cleaning Matt’s bathroom. Matt on the mountain. Other Shawn. Poor red wine guy. That guy who I liked but wasn’t interested in more. Flashing James. DS. Where I started really feeling unworthy and that I needed to buy affection.

Mike was the only one I’d revisit and that’s...

A day after the storm abated, and I’m left with the message of forgive but don’t forget. I can forgive my boss, sure, but I’ve said it before and I need to keep saying it until the guilt eases: I don’t need to stick around for the next time.

I had an illuminating thought tonight. I was so afraid to stop drinking and feared what lay on the other side, worried about judgment, failure, boredom, scrambling, unknowing. And, of course, what I’ve been finding is that it I’m so grateful for the prod to stop because things are much better on this side. All the same things exist, but it’s just easier to manage them.

I suspect there’s a parallel to leaving my job for something new. I can’t stay at my job for my boss’ approval because she’s already told me she doesn’t approve of a significant amount of what I say or do. So.

At this point, lord, I just give you this resentment I harbor and ask...

Day 36 brought the emergence of a cold and day 37 brought the full force of it. In recent past, I would have taken to the couch and the bottle, rationalizing that “forcing” myself to rest by devouring TV, crap food and whiskey and ginger beer - and, thus, getting shit-bombed out of my gourd - was the best self-care plan. Today, at least, I knew better.

I haven’t slept much these past two nights due to coughing (and work-related anxiety) and I haven’t felt great, but still nothing like the soul-crushing hangovers that whooped on me just 37 days ago. I hope that not being hung over never gets old.

Just had a flashback to a waitress I worked with many moons ago, Diana. She was in her 40s, a beautiful woman in a “rode hard and put away wet” kind of way. She drank herself sad most every night and would come in the next day and let us know that she was “hangin’” after a rough night. We hung...

Angsty call with the boss, followed with a pseudo resolution, and then me hanging up and updating a resume to send out for a job post. That was followed up by an apology note from my boss detailing some crazy work and life developments and admittance that she’s under major stress and went a little apeshit on me, and that I didn’t deserve it. I can forgive being human, but it doesn’t mean I need to stick around to keep on forgiving it.

But you know what? As hard as this week’s been, and as many reasons I can come up with to drink, I’m still looking forward to a sober night tonight to recharge my batteries and rest.

After meditating on it for 24 hours, my takeaway from this mess with my boss is that, sure I could find a way to keep working, but she pretty severely damaged my confidence. I’m always going to be wondering if I did or said the wrong thing. Plus, the company announced today it’s making a move to get sold.

All that boils down to the fact that it’s time for my exit. I’ll sleep on it again tonight and it’ll take time, but I always thought I’d know when it was time to leave, and I pretty much know it’s time to leave. Well, shit, if being sober ain’t leading to some interesting turns.