So for various reasons rather too boring to explain, I've decided not to drink for a while. I feel good about it and it's really helped me to focus on priorities in life. I mean, I wasn't a slusher or anything before, and I'm not straight-edge now (hellooooo, holiday eggnog), but I'm making a conscious effort in my life to channel my energy in a different direction.
Cut to yesterday, which I'm convinced was a full moon day based on clients/family members/celebrities going CRAZY. And not the usual, everyday crazy, but full on foaming at the mouth and kicking babies crazy. And at the end of such craziness my coworker says, "I'm going home to drink half a bottle of wine."
Which made me think, what sweet comfort would I turn to now if not a fine glass of Moscato? But when I woke up this morning, too early to get ready for work and too late to get any significant sleep, I decided to get up and write. Coffee in hand and with the partner-in-crime and our trusty sidekick curled up beside me I snuggled under the covers and worked on my WIP. I only had about 30 minutes, but afterward I felt...relaxed. Happy. Content. And I had a wicked caffeine buzz.
All of which made me realize that writing has become my new retreat from the world, my place to go when I need to do something that makes me feel good. A place to drown my sorrows in similes and dialog tags. My new wine.
Although I guess that makes revisions my new hangover.