On with life.

Wednesday morning, I was the first patient to see the treatment team.  That's how it goes:  the ones that are on their way out get processed early.   Some sort of closure takes place here.  A show of support.  Documents to sign, medications to go over.  I was a little nervous, because historically the next twelve hours were a coin flip.  I always left with good intentions, clear on where to go and what to do for the best chance to stay sober.  About half of the time, I was drunk before sunset.  Now, the other half, I had made some kind of effort.  Called someone; went to a meeting.  Got phone numbers.  And you know, this kind of stuff really works, if you want to stay off the bottle.  But then, there's the rub.  Even though the walls are closing in and your life is falling apart, the drink still calls.  It is maddening.  I guess that if there is any chance at all to stay sober, you have to fight for years.  Forever.  With everything you have.  Maybe you get a few lucky punches in on the way.  Good things happen.  When you take a shot, you are not down for the count. Hopefully, when the bell rings at the end of the fifteenth round, you are still standing.  And just maybe, if you listen closely enough, you can hear the cheers of the crowd, that is if anyone sticks around until the end.

I laced up my gloves and walked out of there.