Crave

It was odd.

The craving hit me with a wash of adrenalin, as if I had actually taken the drink of that fiery, wicked red wine.  I could feel the burn of alcohol slide down my throat, inviting the surge of euphoria that would blossom in my toes and rush to my head.

I could feel that dark energy of the poison like I had felt almost every day oh so many years ago.

But why?

I was reading, like I do every night, in an effort to turn off my mind so I may fall asleep.  I was not indulging in my pastime of years gone past; the alcoholic that was.

Still, I could taste the delicious intoxicant and smell it's perfumed fragrance, yet it was nowhere in my vicinity.

My eyes widened and my heart struck with excitement of receiving the treat.

I don't know how my mind thought this was going to happen, as I was cocooned warmly in my bed with my toes curled in a pillowy duvet.

I haven't had a craving of this magnitude for years, but that really doesn't mean anything.  Even though I'm 11+ years clean and sober, I'm not immune from the persisting alcoholic brain that will try to trip me up and tell me, "Go ahead.  You can handle it now."

This is why we never say we're cured.  This is why it's a lifelong mentality of being a 'recovering' addict, and not a 'recovered' addict.

My mind would not shut off.

I was thinking about the dinner's company of My Person and her love, and the wonderful phone call I received just prior to this meetup.

I received a phone call asking if both of my projects, BlueLight and HECTOR would have an electronic night at the Queer Arts Festival here in Vancouver.

It was hard for me to grant myself an ego to say, "Yeah!  Let's have the Andréa show," because I couldn't imagine anyone wanting to watch an entire evening of my chaotic musical mind.

However, even though I said, "Gimme a day to talk with both of them," my mind was already having it staged, performed and taking the bow.

Dinner was an energetic happy hang out after that call.  I didn't tell them about it, as I had way too much to talk about concerning Papi and all our goings on.

I told My Person's F-M about my love's wispy chin hair that looked like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, and how there was great pride in these protruding fibers.  This ally told me to tell my love to, "Shave that shit off."

I laughed with glee as he told me to tell Papi it's a sure fire way to expose the transition, and that my love wouldn't like that.

Wrong.

When I told mi esposo, there was laughter, "That's the goal."

Damn!  I suppose a phone call from this person will straighten out my love, because I certainly can't.  Obviously Papi needs guidance down this path that has been blazed!

Shave that shit off.

Regardless, I'm sure between the dinner conversation about my rules for Papi, the 2 hour show I had choreographed in my mind, and the fact that all these obsessions weren't going to grant me sleep until at least 2 a.m. were the reason for my brain slipping into thoughts of dousing it with venom.

Perhaps if it gets worse, I'll take a walk into the rooms that helped me let go of years of addictive behavior.

It was odd.