Blogs are stupid

I don't keep a journal well. I have probably at least a dozen computer files that are a journal of some kind. And I have this blog that I never update. I want someone to send me an email with the words "ferris bueller you're my hero" in the subject line so I will have proof that someone actually read this. Anyway. I have nothing to write about at the moment. Or I guess I have plenty to write about but I don't want to. I don't know.

I quit drinking six years ago and it was a pretty typical hitting bottom, getting help, getting sober kind of story so I won't go into it. But I remember having a sincere fear that I would never sleep again. I had gotten my body so accustomed to passing out. I drank myself to sleep every night for several years so that even when I didn't "want" to drink anymore I had this irrational fear that I had to if I wanted to get any rest. But when enough was enough I figured things were bad enough that it was a choice between not sleeping again or going on the way I was, I would just get used to being awake forever. Of course I slept. Of course I now realize (with the help of a lot of amazing anonymous people) that I don't need to drink myself to sleep.

But night time is still hard. There's still a demon tied to a chair in my brain (that's a Dax Riggs song... check it out if you haven't). I get home and I'm ravenous. Edgy. Hungry. I don't want to drink anymore so I eat or try to figure out some way to justify taking cold medicine or just how much herbal sleep aids aren't too much.

I haven't been running at all in a long time. I miss it. I don't feel motivated.

This all sounds way too sad. Things are fine. Things are great. Boys are amazing. My wife and I are in love and still make each other laugh and smile and flirt.

But that damn demon is still knocking around up there. Waiting. Scheming. Like a ghost.