I find myself on a strange island.
Having reduced whiskey consumption by 85% (the number is precise - I have done the calculations), one would assume that I am now enjoying vibrant, conversation filled, energizing evenings with my lovey wife.
Not so.
The only position I can comfortably adopt in the recliner is fully reclined with two pillows behind my head. Because I am still getting only four consecutive hours of sleep a night, combined with snippets of sleep from that point on, I am eternally exhausted.
I fall asleep.
Soundly and early.
Every goddamn night. At least the nights when I am home at a reasonable hour.
Carol quietly goes to bed at her appointed hour; I wake up in the recliner at 12:15, pop a pain pill and climb into bed.
I have replaced drunken repose with exhausted repose.
I guess my point is that I am in a strange place. I have made positive changes for which I receive no reward. My life is in limbo right now.
A limbo of chiropractor appointments, ice on the neck, "exercises", pain, exhaustion and, apparently, very little progress. At least progress that is not fast enough or dramatic enough for my needs.
I believe I am moving forward. I believe I am doing the right thing. But the way my mind works, when I make dramatic change I expect dramatic results.
My mind tells me that if I am going to fall asleep with whiskey in my belly or without whiskey in my belly, then I might as well have a drink.
I have done a good job of resisting that, although I have relapsed a few times because, as anyone of any wisdom knows, whiskey is a great elixir, solver of all problems great and small and the world's greatest medicine.
My mind tells me that if I faithfully visit Chiro Man and do the "exercises" he prescribes, then I should see marked improvement.
I do not. But I do the exercises anyway.
I am in a strange new land that I do not understand. My mind lately is tending towards despair.
I am fighting it as best I can.
Meanwhile the only two organisms that are happy with the new me are my liver and my wife.
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