Resolved

by Wells

I came out of January 1 this year like a bat out of  hell.  I joined a gym, found a new job, proposed to my lady, and dropped 10 pounds.  Since then, I’ve let things slide a little.

Project managers have this thing called  scope creep.  At the beginning of a project the purpose of a team’s work is defined and their schedule is outlined according to the results everyone expects.  Naturally over the course of a long project, other teams will interject with tiny little demands that seem acceptable piecemeal, but can threaten to distract the team’s resources from the vitally important central mission of the project.  The scope of the project becomes compromised in a way that no one saw coming, though everyone watched as it happened.

Similarly, I have let my own steadfastness creep away from me in drips and drabs.  I had dedicated myself to no meals after 6, but I have let that slide.  I’d pledged moderation and less nights at the bar, but I feel like I’m a worse imbiber now than ever.  I rarely exercise.  I stay up way too late, and it’s starting to affect my work.  I smoke, and that’s the last thing I need.

This cannot continue.  I am too strong to let myself be affected by the workings of my addicted brain, by the siren call of advertising and seasonal novelties.  Starting tomorrow I end meals at 6.  I cannot afford to drink, so I just won’t.  The television will stay off and I’ll sleep early enough to wake up before the alarm.

I hear the detractors already in the chasms of my imagination.  They’ll say I don’t enjoy life.  They’ll say I’m not friendly because I never hang out anymore.  But the fact is that these voices are just my own doubt projected onto the people I know and love.  Truthfully, anyone who would stand in the way of my rehabilitation, my renaissance, doesn’t deserve my patronage.  My Booze Brain will tell me I’ve gone soft and that they’re all saying awful things about my weakness behind my back.

But I know better.  Whether Booze Brain is a liar or telling the truth is inconsequential.  I just can’t afford to listen to the addict in me anymore.  And so I’ll say in a voice louder than the voice of my demons:  I am Phil Wells, and I don’t play that shit.

If you’re reading this and you’ll miss my face at the bar, well, I’m flattered.  We’ll just have to learn to enjoy each other without a drink in my hand.

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