 |
| A visual approximation of the offending concoction. |
I’ve got a hangover today. No, I haven’t started drinking again. The culprit was a milkshake. I’d been craving one for awhile so the missus included vanilla ice cream and chocolate syrup in our latest grocery delivery. She warned me about having a shake in the evening as dessert, saying it was liable to cause me stomach troubles around bedtime. Why not have one tomorrow during the day, she suggested. The thing is that I knew she was right. The other thing is that I’m an addict. As a drinker I engaged in self-destructive behavior, often knowing the consequences that awaited after a night of debauchery. Nonetheless, I persisted (and not in the good Elizabeth Warren kind of way). Through the teeth, past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes.
The milkshake was delicious and I enjoyed every second of it. Hey, I feel fine, I thought after the last gulp had been swallowed. And I continued to feel fine — a tad bloated, but what’s that to worry about? — as the evening wore on. As a precaution I stayed up well past my bedtime to allow dinner and the milkshake (did I mention how tasty it was?) to digest. I settled into the sack confident that a comfortable night of sleep awaited me. I settled into the sack awaiting the inevitable rumblings in my abdominal regions. I was of two minds.
I put my book down, turned off the nightlight, laid on my back and within seconds there were rumblings down below. I sat back up for a bit, managed a good hearty belch and made a second effort to visit slumberland. That effort lasted but a minute or so before I was sitting up again. Then the recriminations started. I was I-told-you-soing myself. left and right. Meanwhile, my darling wife was sleeping soundly at my side.
It was perhaps twenty minutes after my first attempt that sleep overcame my intestinal discomfort. Not a terrible price to pay for so delicious a treat. However….
An hour later I awoke and sat up straight as an arrow. There was a terrific internal debate being waged in my belly. One side of the argument there raging posited that I should yield to the inevitable and regurgitate the contents of my stomach. This did not appeal to me nor did it seem the fait accompli that one portion of my intestinal tract was insisting it was. In any event sleep was not possible, at least in a prone position. I got out of bed and wandered into the living room unsure what course of action to take. I finally settled upon sitting upright in our recliner with a blanket draped over me. This I did while feeling terribly sorry for myself. Poor me, a victim of my own gluttony and addictive personality.
At last I found deep sleep, albeit in a sitting position. An hour later I awoke and returned to our sleeping chamber, my tummy feeling perfectly normal. Hurrah!
I am no longer capable of sleeping late so I awoke only thirty minutes later than usual, my head feeling like I’d been on a bender. My morning ablutions and breakfast helped, but now, nearly three hours after rising I feel the effects of a poor night’s sleep. But I shall carry on through the day — likely taking a nap at some point — doubtless to retire early and be full of piss and vinegar again tomorrow.
Have I learned my lesson? I answering with a resounding Yes! And with an equally resounding No! I've been sober for over 32 years and in that time I have learned many a lesson about over indulging, accepting one's limitations, changing behaviors and seeking wisdom. However last night's milkshake made clear that I have not reached a destination in my recovery but am sill on a journey. Ups and downs continue apace. Progress not perfection as we twelve-steppers say.
(By the way, did I mention how good that milkshake was?)
The milkshake was delicious and I enjoyed every second of it. Hey, I feel fine, I thought after the last gulp had been swallowed. And I continued to feel fine — a tad bloated, but what’s that to worry about? — as the evening wore on. As a precaution I stayed up well past my bedtime to allow dinner and the milkshake (did I mention how tasty it was?) to digest. I settled into the sack confident that a comfortable night of sleep awaited me. I settled into the sack awaiting the inevitable rumblings in my abdominal regions. I was of two minds.
I put my book down, turned off the nightlight, laid on my back and within seconds there were rumblings down below. I sat back up for a bit, managed a good hearty belch and made a second effort to visit slumberland. That effort lasted but a minute or so before I was sitting up again. Then the recriminations started. I was I-told-you-soing myself. left and right. Meanwhile, my darling wife was sleeping soundly at my side.
It was perhaps twenty minutes after my first attempt that sleep overcame my intestinal discomfort. Not a terrible price to pay for so delicious a treat. However….
An hour later I awoke and sat up straight as an arrow. There was a terrific internal debate being waged in my belly. One side of the argument there raging posited that I should yield to the inevitable and regurgitate the contents of my stomach. This did not appeal to me nor did it seem the fait accompli that one portion of my intestinal tract was insisting it was. In any event sleep was not possible, at least in a prone position. I got out of bed and wandered into the living room unsure what course of action to take. I finally settled upon sitting upright in our recliner with a blanket draped over me. This I did while feeling terribly sorry for myself. Poor me, a victim of my own gluttony and addictive personality.
At last I found deep sleep, albeit in a sitting position. An hour later I awoke and returned to our sleeping chamber, my tummy feeling perfectly normal. Hurrah!
I am no longer capable of sleeping late so I awoke only thirty minutes later than usual, my head feeling like I’d been on a bender. My morning ablutions and breakfast helped, but now, nearly three hours after rising I feel the effects of a poor night’s sleep. But I shall carry on through the day — likely taking a nap at some point — doubtless to retire early and be full of piss and vinegar again tomorrow.
Have I learned my lesson? I answering with a resounding Yes! And with an equally resounding No! I've been sober for over 32 years and in that time I have learned many a lesson about over indulging, accepting one's limitations, changing behaviors and seeking wisdom. However last night's milkshake made clear that I have not reached a destination in my recovery but am sill on a journey. Ups and downs continue apace. Progress not perfection as we twelve-steppers say.
(By the way, did I mention how good that milkshake was?)
No comments:
Post a Comment