June 14th, 1981
Overcast grey day. I slept late and went to the 12:30 mass at St. Joseph’s. This was my first time there and my feelings were mixed. The congregation seems affluent, liberal, intellectual. Protestant. The organ music was good and I enjoyed the sermon. I received communion under both species and fretted whether that might constitute a threat to my sobriety. I imagined for a moment that the wine would course through my veins like liquid fire, destroying all my willpower and that I would lurch to the nearest bar and get drunk. I didn’t. Although, God knows I’ve wanted to enough during the last 24 hours.
Today is my 82nd day sober and I find myself restless and whining. My concentration is scattered. I keep thinking of little projects, but don’t seem to have the interest to get started. I am grouchy and irritable. I feel tired but cannot sleep. I am sullen and moody. Allan has gone to a movie, perhaps just to get away from me.
I pace the apartment like a tethered beast. The fact is that, after all the turmoil of the past few months, I find myself in a very safe, very empty place. The drinking days are over, and the people and the bars and the booze that filled my life are gone. Receding into the horizon. And I am left with a very quiet, empty world.
What I must do is simply allow this time to pass. I know that slowly, as I come to know myself better, my life will fill with those gifts that sobriety and sanity bring. It’s empty now, but there is a reason and a need for this time. I must content myself with small pleasures and let these days pile like a foundation beneath me.