We Do What We Can and Can What We Do

I didn't feel like writing a blog post.  I didn't feel like it because my thoughts told me I wouldn't have anything to say, and if I did, it would be too dangerous, would expose too much, would perhaps even destroy life as we know it. That's a lot of pressure to put on a blog post.  No wonder it feels intimidated.  It also points to the massive ego I must have.  But I'll address that in a later blog post titled "I Hate Myself But I'm Also the Greatest Thing In the World." I've been playing around with this idea that our thoughts create our emotions.  It's not a new idea.  Any good cognitive behavioral therapist reading this will be like, duh.  And then I'll be like, "Hey.  Cognitive Behavioral Therapist, you talkin' to ME?" It's funny how we set up these structures for ourselves early on in life that we hold on to like they're true.  For example, my high school years consisted of me thinking that the rational min...

I remember when I first started blogging.  Nora was about three, and after she would make her last insomniac toddler protest, I'd pour myself a generous glass of Chardonnay and type away in my bed, sipping and sorting the words. Nora is almost 13 now, and she goes by Morti.  He goes by Morti, I should say. And next month marks year two of sobriety for me.  Boring, laborious, sober sobriety.  Necessary sobriety.  Did I mention boring?  As badly as I want to be one of those people who can have a glass of red with my steak or some sort of umbrella'd blender drink while sitting by the pool with her tanned friends, I'm not.  I'm a "lose my purse and fall down the stairs" kind of drinker.  A "just one more" after she's already had seven kind of drinker.  I wish I were a polite drinker, someone who enjoyed the taste and didn't become obnoxious in the restaurant.  It's not that I couldn't hold my liquor.  Oh boy, could I hold liquor....