Skip to main content

STILL Sober! (2 months, 9 days and counting...) :-)

Yes folks. I'm still sober. A lot of people seem to forget this. I haven't. While it was relatively easy to give up booze for me, I'd like to take a minute to explain just why I did it.

Do I think I'm an alcoholic? In short, no. That said, problems were starting to arise. I attribute some of them to just getting older but some may be rooted a bit deeper. My cousin nearly drank himself to death not long after my heart attack. That scared me.

Basically, I just no longer saw the use of drinking. I no longer enjoy the company of drunks. (snobby SOB ain't I? lol) Hear me out, I can't nor will I ever condemn anyone for having a drink...Lord knows I drank enough! LOL But after 30 years in the music biz, 30 years of playing in bars, nightclubs, afterhours joints, etc...I grew tired of it. I've never 'craved' alcohol. I've never felt dependent upon it. Sure, I had my pre-show ritual (2 beers) for years...but I've done quite a few shows stone cold sober too. In fact, my playing is BETTER when I'm sober...as long as the band is tight and the crowd is loose!

What does bother me is how everyone seems to equate me with beer/booze. I'm guessing that means that they are fondly equating me with 'good times'. Well folks, the best I can tell you is I'm still fun. I'm still me. I just no longer drink alcohol. Don't be afraid to drink around me...just please don't offer me a drink. If you ask me "why" I quit, I'll tell you...but it probably won't be the most fun bar room conversation you'll ever have! LOL

I quit for my own reasons and I'm happily sober. I don't have to worry about hangovers, DUIs, or wondering where all that money went! I've not joined AA...just not for me. I think AA/NA are wonderful for those who can benefit from them. Like I said, I'm not an alcoholic, I'm just a former drunk. And I plan to keep it that way!

Lastly, I'd like to thank someone for giving me the courage to quit. As she's a modest kinda gal, I'll just call her Miss Rule62. She knows who she is. I only wish that she could see herself through my eyes just once. I think she's an incredibly talented, intelligent, strong, kind, caring soul. She's even funny...but she told me once not to tell her that as she might believe it! LOL So, to Miss Rule62...Thank You! :-)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Let's Talk Typing

When I was a kid, we had an already ancient Royal typewriter at home. Book reports, certain schoolwork, or in my case, just for making noise. Mom had a nice electric typewriter that she used for work. But that old Royal - that's probably where my love of writing began. - MM I was thinking about my old typewriter last night. Writing was serious back then. Forty pounds of steel, keys, and ribbon. No batteries. No updates. No distractions. Just you and the machine. And that machine fought back. Type too fast and the keys would jam together like two drunks fighting in a bar. Type too slowly or too lightly and it might just decide you didn’t really need that letter or that word. Sometimes it felt like the thing had opinions. Like it was quietly judging you. You learned quickly. You learned rhythm. You learned pressure. You learned patience. It was like a built-in editor made of steel and stubbornness. Made a mistake? Start over. Or, if you didn’t mind your work looking like hell, dab s...

Fags & Faggots

 It was late February 2002, and I was getting ready for my first trip overseas.  I had lucked into a handful of gigs, and I was thrilled by the chance. I grew up watching lots of Hammer horror films, and almost any British show I could find. Monty Python's Flying Circus, The Benny Hill Show, Dave Allen, and Tommy Cooper were regular viewing thanks to public television. I spent plenty of time reading British literature, especially Arthur Conan Doyle. My maternal grandfather’s family was British, so it’s fair to say I was an Anglophile. I thought I had a pretty good understanding of “the Queen’s English.” I was well acquainted with terms like spanner, lorry, telly, and most hilarious to twelve-year-old me, fags (or cigarettes, for those unaware). I was under the mistaken impression that “wanker” could be used as a term of endearment, not unlike jagoff. I later found this to be…not quite accurate. I was admittedly concerned about the food. While I occasionally consider myself ad...

THE BOOK I'LL NEVER WRITE

He sometimes said his greatest regret was not taking the old Trans-Siberian Railway eastward to Lake Baikal. Not because he cared much for bucket lists. He considered such catalogs as vanity with stationery, for those who had wasted decades suddenly writing down ten expensive ways to continue wasting time. No, what he regretted was more precise than that. He regretted never sitting in a dim canteen somewhere near Irkutsk while some broad-faced stranger lied to him magnificently over soup and vodka. He regretted never hearing the room laugh at a joke he only half understood. He regretted missing stories that would now likely never be told the same way again. His body had long since vetoed such ambitions. These days he was lucky if the month’s arithmetic ended with enough left over for prescriptions. If Melinda French Gates wished to finance a crippled Pennsylvanian’s global adventures, he remained open to discussion, but until then, conversations near Lake Baikal would have to survi...