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I went out with a friend last night. We attended a book reading downtown and then had dinner. It was a really lovely evening full of real conversation. And wine. Yes. We had wine. And a fair bit. Over the course of five hours, we each had five glasses. Writing that makes me cringe and maybe that is a good thing because this week is about convincing myself that I want to do this, that I really want to change. Anyway. Toward the end of our meal, lubricated by said vino, I told my friend about my plan, my project. I told her I was seriously considering giving up wine for a year. Her eyes lit up and she asked me why. And I went into some of the reasons. (There are so many.) And I found her nodding, and smiling. Good for you, she said.

I didn't expect this. No. This is a friend with whom I've historically drunk plenty of wine. I thought, perhaps foolishly, that wine was a necessary component of our connection. And here I was, opening up, and being proven wrong. Not only did she express her support, but she confessed something to me. She said that she too has worried about her own drinking habits at times, and that she had recently embarked on a serious effort to cut back. She said that she almost emailed me telling me that she wouldn't be drinking at dinner but she worried that I would expect her to, and want her to.

By the end of the evening, as we sipped the last of our pinot grigio, she not only said she supported me, but that she would consider joining me in giving it up.

I went to sleep buzzed, too buzzed, but optimistic. I am really not alone in this, I thought as I stared at the ceiling. Other people struggle with things. Other people want to change.

I am a bit slow this morning. Foggy. This is a familiar feeling. The thought that I will not feel like this for a year is exciting. More than exciting.

I'm really going to do this.

Lunch

The Holidays Are History. (I Stepped on the Scale.)