Being in recovery meant giving up more than booze. I foreswore cigarettes, even before I hit my alcoholic bottom ( but I thought I had given up drinking first, actually, just didn't know there was another drunk in there). I have worked hard to let go of swearing, always unattractive. For a while, I gave up meat and went vegetarian, not vegan, I ate eggs and dairy, and occasionally fish. I suppose you could say I have given up indolence, since I am always in action these days, pumping my little dumbbells or walking to Safeway with my green bag and, of course, the newest regime of swimming. I cut way back on carbs, and sugar. But I am never giving up my coffee. Even seeing that it does bad things to me, like cause hot flashes or bladder spasms. It starts my engine, and is worth getting out of bed for most days. It is around this time every year that Costco runs out of my beloved Sumatra (new crop comes in our winter as coffee grows in the Southern hemisphere, where the seasons are reversed, you know), and I have to grit my teeth and settle for Ethiopian, if I can even get that. But, boy, when the Sumatra comes back, I do a little jig right there in the aisle in front of God and everyone. Okay, I'm nutso. But it's a happy brand of nutso, indeed.
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