Milepost,

One third of the way through the dry spell. Consulting the goals I outlined at the beginning, I note that I've lost a little weight (2% of starting weight) and that I'm sleeping through the night more often. So I've made some progress towards those goals. I'm running better, though that may just be a result of running more (ten miles yesterday morning, a half-marathon coming up this weekend). I still wish that I made more efficient use of time, though that may be a deeper issue.

Overall, I'm surprised at how little difference not drinking makes. At first I thought about it all the time, now only when I'm thirsty and ready to relax. Once the weather cools, I'll start brewing again.

Vinegar

I have begun drinking diluted vinegar over ice in the evening, when I would normally have drunk something alcoholic. I find it answers many of the same needs as beer or wine.

For one thing the preparation of it is a satisfying little ritual. It takes a little time to shake out about two ounces of vinegar, dilute it with two to three parts water, add some ice, cut and squeeze a wedge of lemon, and stir. It's not unlike uncapping a bottle, choosing the right glass, pouring carefully, and rinsing the dregs out so as to be able to reuse the bottle.

The taste isn't bad. When the acidic sting is diminished other flavors can come out. I've been sampling wine vinegars so far, but I'll see if cider vinegars have a different flavor profile. Vinegar come from wine that has soured when exposed to acetobacter in the air. They work on strong ale, too, changing the ethanol to acetic acid and producing "alegar."

It is mentionedl in all four gospels that soldiers at the crucifixion offered Jesus a sponge filled with vinegar. I always thought this an odd detail. At some point I learned that diluted, soured wine was the soldier's drink.

Get thee behind me, Bacchus!

It's Thursday, so just as I did two weeks ago I came home with my throat dry from talking and with a feeling of elation at having taught a satisfactory class. Better circumstances for enjoying a beer you will never find. I surely wanted one, but I found myself concentrating instead on how to turn some leftovers into a meal and getting the news of the day from the family. When the meal was done I realized I could now stand the idea of not drinking. Desires come and possess us, but the sad and reassuring truth is that they pass. We are not constituted by our desires.

Flirting with danger

At the beginning of this experiment I felt sad about giving up alcohol. I mourned the loss of the beer or wine I would have drunk when the occasions for them arose. Lately, I've felt more angry over this limitation, realizing that I have imposed it on myself. (See post of Aug. 19, beginning "Damn, I really want a beer.") This way of thinking jeopardizes the whole project.

Today, I was out of town, among strangers as well as friends, thirsty after a day's labor, and visiting a particular Mexican restaurant for the first time. I noticed the draft beer specials and ordered one. I did so knowingly and, if truth be told, spitefully. "What's so special about not drinking any alcohol?" I asked myself. "One beer in four weeks still counts as being on the wagon." The drinks came. One person in our group knew the significance of my order and expressed her surprise, even urging me to reconsider, while the others carried on regardless. I raised the glass, closed my eyes, and sipped. Thank God it was only Dos Equis, because the cheap beer taste struck my palate and marred my reunion with the brew. " "Prost," a tablemate said, so I raised it to my lips again.

After that I put it down and let eleven and a half ounces of beer just rest in the glass, which I did not pick up again. The unsatisfactory taste made it easier to stop, though in the past when drinking cheap commercial beer or unsuccessful homebrew, I've always finished what's in front of me and resolved to try something else for the next beer. Having another person nearby who knew what I was doing and having a partner in abstinence whom I would have to face sometime also helped me stop, though it did not prevent me from crossing the line in the first place. I'll tell you what tipped the balance: the thought - and it did not occur to me until after that first sip - that I would have to blog about this experience. Yes, dear reader, I could not bear to let you down.

Getting used to it?

In some ways, I'm getting used to being on the wagon. The newness of this experiment caused a fermentation of observation and reflection. My blog postings up to now have been the froth generated by this meeting of reactive elements. I've learned some initial lessons about the place of alcohol in my life. I'm in a secondary phase now. There's a longer, conditioning phase where I see what sober life is like. Of course the higher the gravity of the potential change, the more time I'll need to clarify. It's funny. I hardly think about the old sauce at all.