This month I’ve been operating at a “10”

So, I’m watching Superman III.  You know, the one with Richard Pryor and the split Superman fighting himself in the junkyard.  (Bet you’re waiting for an analogy here)  Remember the other 80’s Richard Pryor movie (cause there are only 2), where he is plays a “toy” purchased by some snot-nosed rich kid?  (Nope, no analogy there either)  Here’s what I like about opening that can of yams and eating them in my bathrobe over the sink after watching Superman III for the umpteenth time – nothing. 

For a journey into the armchair, pop psychology, unqualified self-analysis of my latest psychosis, I gladly bring you the “void” one attempts to fill after great loss.  I feel this line of thinking is somewhat fallacious and a copout answer to a deeper issue.  I did my morning routine, meditation, and run.  (I now run in the middle of the day to escape that nagging phone.  No one has good news at 10am, no one) I recently read that after trauma (sure, I call it trauma and use lots of brackets now) you need to limit chaotic exposition and establish reliable patterns so the body shields itself from physical and psychological deterioration.  Indeed, this calls for a spreadsheet, an iPhone application, and some serious self-discipline.  Though I couldn’t be a worse candidate for the latter, the former two are right up my alley.  This month I’ve been operating at a “10”.   What am I talking about?   Well, I have a series of personal goals and challenges that I’ve laid out in a spreadsheet of 10 daily tasks I want to accomplish to “improve” my lifestyle.  Before you laugh, I’ve lost weight, am coping with a lot of emotions well, feel better than I have in years, and see things quite differently from day to day.  Once I’ve established a long enough trend in one of the 10 items, I can replace it with a newer, tougher goal. 

What, you may ask, has been my week point?  Drinking.  I. LOVE. BEER.  (Also, scotch, rum, wine….)  I’m catching myself defining alcoholism and seeing its many facets.  I’m not going to quit drinking, but am now controlling the consecutive evenings I bring home that 6 pack.  I’ll talk about my Dad in another posting.  I’m sure I have a problem now that I realize my house guest on Sunday, coupled with the podcast, is secondary to how much I’m looking forward to having given myself permission to drink that day.  So, all good tales leave you with a question.  Am I looking forward to a couple of beers because I have a substance addiction, or have I deprived myself to a point this week that I’ve built up anticipation?  The hardest thing when I quit smoking 6 months ago wasn’t the cessation period.  It was thinking that I’d never have a cigarette again.  That’s when I wanted to smoke most.  It’s knowing that I can’t have a beer now that makes me want one more.  I wonder which Superman will win the day.  Or am I just toying with myself?  (There they are.  See what I did there?)