I don’t have any earth shattering St. Paddy’s Day stories, which is a shocker for me, but a day like today reminds me of this one:
Today is a beautiful, sunny responsibility free Sunday, and it’s a drinking holiday. In the past this would have been a perfect excuse to round up my neighbors and hit the local pub. Ditching the kids at home for hours, cause you know, I work so hard and I deserve it.
So, after I was sober for a bit, my wife told me something that greatly disturbed her about one of these days in the last year of my drinking. We had done the above (she had joined us) on some lazy weekend day. What disturbed her was not the event, that we drank, or that I was drunk. It was that afterward I was speaking so lovingly, about how grateful I was for her to let me have that day, and join me, on that day of drinking. Like it was the best thing she had done for me in years. It totally creeped her out.
You know, if she had told me that story when I was active, I would have said she was fucking crazy. But hearing it after what I know sober, it makes perfect sense – and it creeps me out too. It was the Beast talking, and to him it probably was one of the best days of his life. Grateful he’s not doing the talking today.