There Are Worse Things I Could Do

"There are worse things I could do,
Than go with a boy or two.
Even though the neighborhood thinks I'm trashy,
And no good,
I suppose it could be true,
But there are worse things I could do." ~ Rizzo in 'Grease'

I've been doing some thinking. (Ha! Big surprise!) I came to realize something. There are worse things I could do than have one, simple drink.

I did not go on a bender.

I did not go out the next night and drink.

I did not go out last night or tonight to go drink.

I was honest with myself and my feelings about it.

I did not tell The Boy because there was no reason to.

I did not really do anything wrong - except to me.

I did awaken a monster, but I'm resisting his charms.

(but wasn't that monster already awake?)

I had the worst day of this school year yesterday, and I stayed sober.

I'm still sober, today, even though it's a Friday night and I'm unescorted.

So, yay me. I did some good things, even in my mistake. I guess I just had to put it into perspective. I drank when I'd vowed not to and, yeah, maybe I should be spending my evening with the local AA group, but I'm not. And I'm still sober and being honest with myself.

My GOD, isn't this recovery a wondrous thing!? (sarcasm, people...)

In other news, The Boy is working his last two days as a night shift employee. I sorta dig my freedom and time alone, but I'm glad he'll be back around. He keeps me from withdrawing too far into myself and thinking too much. He makes me happy - most of the time - and I'm hoping his new hours will improve our sex life. I mean, it's not like it could get any worse. Seriously. It's been damn-near 2 months. How I have managed to stay faithful to him is beyond me. Probably because I have no takers...

(actually, i do, but our schedules never seem to jell, so i take that as a sign)

Speaking of fidelity...The Boy brought up a possible engagement again. I am tired of discussing this. I am not ready to consider the possibility of getting married again. I'm just not ready. I'm not even out from under the rock of irresponsibility that my ex-husband left on my head. The thought of getting engaged when I'm not even getting laid is just...asinine. Why would I agree to marry someone (even if it's a year in the future) when I'm not having needs met? Right. I wouldn't.

But, in true Borderline Personality Disorder fashion, I've decided that, since other things in my life aren't going right, if I just change some other stuff, it'll make everything else better. So...I've decided to dye my hair again. Since I am currently very blonde, it only makes sense that I would head in the exact opposite direction. I really like the Miss Clairol Reddest Mahogany Red for right now, but I'm thinking it might not be dark enough for me. But, knowing my complexion, it will probably be just right.

Later, after the dye job, I'm going to cut bangs. Long, straight-across, eyebrow-covering bangs. Corrective color is easy to budget for, but chopping hair that is waist-length...well...that's a permanent thing, girlie.

The Boy is practically begging me not to do it. He said, "The girl I fell in love with has blonde hair..." as if somehow, by dying it, I will be a different person, no longer worthy of his love. What? If anybody reads this at all, and if you happen to be a guy, would you please decipher this for me? How can my hair color make that much difference in the amount of love I receive?

There are worse things I could do. Seriously. I could do more than just dye the hair. I could chop it. I could get a neck tattoo. I could be fucking someone else because The Boy won't fuck me. I could be sitting in a bar with a bob haircut and dark reddish-brown hair, a neck tattoo, with my third drink in front of me, seeing how many men I could get to talk to me and pick one to go home with...But I'm not. I'm sitting in front of my broke-ass laptop on a Friday night, listening to techno music, wondering if I'm actually going to attend that photo shoot in the morning - early as hell. My hair is still blonde, my drink is still sweet iced tea, and I am still tragically un-fucked.

Although, I guess, in retrospect, that is the worst I could do...