So I might have a problem. FebFast is over. Am I worried about what’s going to happen next? Yes. Very. So will this be part of some lasting change? Or will I revert straight back to old habits?
Reverting back to bad habits is exactly what happened the last time I did FebFast. At the start of March I went on a bender, and lost a girlfriend and an iPod. I couldn’t say which I miss more, but I definitely miss both for different reasons.
Before I began not drinking this time around, I was more aware of my issues with alcohol. One of my main reasons for doing it was to break my dependence on drink.
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Okay, this Febfast thing is getting ridiculous. Two nights ago I performed in a brewery. Where all performers got unlimited free drinks.
I was told, ‘Here is liquid gold. Drink your fill, and be engulfed by its wonder here and now, for you cannot consume any outside of this magical place.’
Or that’s what I heard. My need for alcohol is actually starting to affect my powers of perception, and I now seem to be existing in a reality that is part medieval England, part Narnia. Alternatively, I might be seeing things as they are, and Perth is a few years behind the rest of Australia. It wasn’t just any brewery, either. It was the Little Creatures in Fremantle.
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So, I’m Going to Stop Drinking. Alcohol, that is. Not water. That’d be impossible. Water’s in nearly everything. Fruit, meat, taps and even alcoholic drinks are mostly water.
Also, it’d be deadly to stop drinking water, as it’s essential. For me, alcohol has often been essential too. Which is one of the reasons I’m planning to give it up.
Anybody who knows me will be reading this through a smirk and thinking, “Bullshit”. Which is fair enough. For years I’ve been the last man standing, the good times guy, the person that everyone blames for turning a few drinks into a full on bender. Who did introduce us to those flight attendants, but then got kicked out for dacking a bouncer.
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It was around 11 in the morning and Aunty Mavis came to the door. It had been raining: her wig was askew and her badly drawn on eyebrows were running down into her eyes. As usual, she had a bottle of Stone’s Green Ginger wine in a string bag.
It was just before lunchtime and my sisters and I were sitting around the Formica table in my grandparents’ kitchen shelling peas onto newspaper, preparing for a baked dinner. She came in and was drinking with Nanna who was peeling potatoes in the sink. Grandad was out the back, drunk, listening to the races.
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