163 Sundays to go.
- Apparently, 163 is a number that makes mathematicians want to touch themselves. http://www.neverendingbooks.org/index.php/the-modular-miracle-of-163.html
- Cy Young hit 163 opposing batters in his career. Cy Young is a name that makes baseball historians want to touch themselves. The beginning of this blog is making you want to touch the esc button.
……..and I failed miserably. Popped up with the bases loaded. Dropped the ball in the end zone. Hit the post with an empty net.
Last week I wrote a blog about my wimpy battle with drinking too much coffee and being unable to stop my unhealthy eating habits. I vowed to confront both of those issues and come out victorious. I did neither. Monday, the very first day, I again got coffee in the morning and ate a second breakfast after getting to work. I forgot and never considered “Just for today, I’m not going to…” and “To Thine Own Self Be True” also never occurred to me.
The story of my life. In my history of alcoholism or shocking displays of lack of responsibility, I would vow to stop the insanity. Granted, the recent failures I’ve been having are pretty minor compared to my alcoholism. But the failure to follow through is exactly the same as when I would fail to stop drinking. Last Sunday I was absolutely rock solid intent on following through on my intentions. Go back and read it if you want a good laugh. It’s right underneath this one. After relapsing and drinking in the past, I would wake up hangover vowing never again. Firmly convinced this time it was finally over, I would go to work. I would feel sorta ok and then get hit with a intense wave of hang over pain. This fun little roller coaster would go on in 15 minute cycles most of the day. But in the last hour or so when the pain of the hangover had begun to subside I stopped thinking about the psychological suffering. Then the work day would be over, I had made it and suddenly everything wasn’t quite so bad anymore. I would talk myself into having one or two but telling myself this time don’t go so crazy. But I would go crazy because I wouldn’t stop and the whole nightmare would be upon me again the next morning.
This Monday, a day after writing last week, I forgot about NO COFFEE! and I told myself, I’ll just drink a cup in the morning this week, and nothing afterwards. And I didn’t even try to stop myself once the breakfast arrived. Not even a hesitation. I grabbed the bagel and I was wiping cream cheese off the corner of my lips before I even realized what I was doing. And of course, in the morning after a stressful day and feeling a lack of energy, I would “need” a little Folgers pick-me-up.
I realize and have known forever that I don’t do anything unless my hair is on fire. In college I got very mediocre grades because I didn’t study. I went to class but I didn’t keep up with the written material. Then a couple of days before the midterm or the final I was pulling all nighters. I got after it, took care of business and came through to pass the class. At the beginning of the semester I would tell myself this time you are going to keep up with the reading. But I don’t remember one time, not one time, did I even keep up with the reading for the first few chapters. I thought about it but always concluded well, I’m OK, now. I’ll read it this weekend. But the weekend would come and who wants to study when there’s drinking to be done or they’re hungover? Certainly not me and I never did. When you are young, you are bulletproof and everything is surmountable. When I went back to school when I was 37 to get my teaching credential, I did keep up with the reading. I got straight A’s. I was more mature and finally knew this was what I wanted to do.
When I stopped drinking, for hopefully the last time 2 years and a few months ago, my hair was on fire. I woke up again hungover and this time I was mad. I was really, really, really mad. Always before I would be feeling sorry for myself and pitiful. This time I was angry and that crap was going to stop. “THIS IS RIDICULOUS!!!!” I remember saying that over and over. This was something I wanted to do more than anything. And I did. I had a renewed purpose. I went to 90 AA meetings in 90 days. I got a sponsor. I did the steps. When I went back to school I had a renewed purpose. I was tired of dead end office jobs. I wanted an actual career.
So who knows what turned the tide on my recovery. It was the 7,394th time I was hung over. There wasn’t a DUI or a wrecked vehicle. You’d think the countless other times would have been enough. I don’t know. I guess I’m going to have to get angry or have a life changing health issue like a heart attack to turn the tables. But I’m not really, really, really mad. I can’t manufacture the anger.
Today, Easter Sunday is a lost cause. I’m up against Cy Young on the mound and Jonathan Quick in goal. We go to my wonderful wife’s parents for Easter Sunday. There will be lots of unhealthy snacking and coffee drinking in the afternoon. I’ve already got the excuse that I don’t want to have to explain why I’m not pounding the chips and desserts or the coffee afterwards. Hey, I don’t want to hurt their feelings. What kind of a son-in-law would I be? An overweight pig, amped up and bouncing off the walls.
200 Sundays to Go 