In three days it will be six weeks since I last drank wine and I'm surprised at how much I don't miss it. After all, I went for more than five years drinking it pretty much every day unless I were sick or recuperating from my broken wrist.
Even going in the liquor store on my most indifferent days I still always felt a tiny bit of shame, the smells of the bottles hitting my nose obnoxiously even when I didn't think they were. And if I ever saw an adult accompanied with small children I would think back to my childhood, when my mom would take my sister and me with her to get wine.
I look back now as if it has been years instead of weeks without and I wonder what I was thinking and doing all that time and what I can do with the shame. I absolutely despised alcohol from an early age and never touched a drop until I was in my 40s, when I apparently began to make up for lost time.
Because my health has improved and I seem to be losing some weight, though not as much as I had hoped, I am determined to take dry January into all of 2025. I joked with some friends when Trump won that 2025 would be a terrible time to give up wine, but now I realize it really is the best time to do so. I have a feeling a lot of us are going to need all our wits about us.
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