This just happened to be the first Halloween in 25 years that I was invited to two parties. Friday night I made an appearance at J & K's party. Wow, am I old. Being the ages they are, all of their guests were university students. Do the words, Animal House ring a bell? It was fun being around all that young, kinetic energy, though. Kids that age are fun. Until they get drunk. I had one glass of wine and then was talked into shooting something that was served in test tubes and looked like blood. It tasted like Kool-Ade. Could have been Kool-Ade for all I got from it. I came home, had a terrible bout of what we around here call, "back", and went to bed. I woke up feeling much better and actually looked forward to the next party, V's annual Halloween bash.
I had four or five glasses of wine (when I say glasses, you must understand that I always drink my wine poured over a wine glass stuffed with ice—I learned a long time ago that I can't drink it straight—so I actually had the equivalent of about two and a half glasses). We came home and went to bed. No probs.
When I woke up this morning, I had a severe tannins attack. I don't know if the tannins in wine bother you, but they make me feel like I have the worst head cold for about an hour. Once I've gotten rid of everything I feel fine. Like now.
Anyway, I'm sitting here asking myself if it's worth it, and the answer is "No, it's not."
I used to think that when life sucked, or when I was in physical pain, a good wine buzz would fix it up. And it did. I could party, even have a bit of a hang the next day and think, "Wow, that was cool. I needed that." It doesn't work that way anymore. My quality of life has been so shot to hell of late, the last thing I want or need is to feel any worse. That's why I've gotten into meditation. It makes me feel better, lighter of mood and spirit, and hopeful. And there's no hangover, or feeling like a virtual snot factory.
So my point is, outside of a glass or two at dinner, or when we have guests over, I'm done. As much as I wish I was like the bohemian artists of the 19th and early 20th centuries, I'm not. I'm a 59 year-old woman who wants what's left of her life to be pleasant, as pain-free as possible, and productive. Wine no longer gives me those things, so it has to go. It had a great run—32 years to be exact—but I won't miss it.
Well, maybe a little...