The Bubble

     I have this thing I call the "wine bubble" and I need to write about it today. The reason for this is that I am finding myself forgetting more than usual lately the reasons I quit the wine. I am finding myself thinking of all the good, cozy, fun things about a life with alcohol in it while the lousy (or soul-shattering) things take a backseat. This is probably happening because I am 1.5 months away from completing my 1-year alcohol-free experiment, so my brain knows I could drink again once that is done. So this is where the bubble comes into the picture...

    I call it the bubble because that is what it felt like when I was drinking wine. I loved the fuzzy feeling about half-way into the first glass, where things took on a less sharp, less serious shape. I loved how the people drinking with me also looked less sharp, their edges softening under the soft glow of the lounge booth lights. I loved how my normally racing thoughts began to slow down, how any nagging worries or concerns that I brought to the table began to shrink, how things seemed to suddenly matter less. I loved that we were all in the bubble together, nestled in our safe, cozy place of comfort as we talked about the things going on in our lives. We were connected. 

    And yet, in some ways, we weren't. The truth is we were more likely each in our own bubbles sitting under the illusion that we were in the same one. The truth is we were each becoming more or less "bubbly" (in more ways than one of course) as the minutes turned to hours. But in the end, it didn't really matter whose bubble we were in because it all just felt so good. Until the bubble burst, inevitably, the day after. And this is the thing I have to remember as much as I remember the bubble. This is the thing I need to drag out of the box I stuck it in awhile ago. I need to haul it out now more than ever and name it.

    The day after was so completely different from the bubble of the night before that I often felt  cheated. That next day took on a sour, sickly, disappointing hue more often than not, especially as I got older. I was distinctly aware that the bubble had burst, leaving me alone, in its wake. I'd drag myself around the house, stunned at how absolutely awful I felt. How was this possible? How could I feel so wonderful and then one sleep later, wake up to this? The part that wasn't so surprising but that pissed me off nonetheless was how proportionate everything was in this ridiculous game: the bigger the bubble, the worse the day after was. It was a rule, a law, a perfect example of cause and effect.

    When I decided to give up alcohol for a year, I did it for a few reasons, but one was the bubble. I was tired of it bursting and leaving pieces of me everywhere the day after. I was tired of being disappointed. I was tired of feeling sick. I was tired of the ups and downs. I realized that the bubble could no longer compensate for the day after. When I quit drinking wine, it was because I could finally see the bubble for what it really was- a puffy cloud of illusions that so easily burst in the light of day. I need to remember that part about the bubble. And I do.