Where the hell have I been?
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....