I read somewhere once that it wasn’t a woman’s concern about how much she was drinking…it was more about how much she was thinking about drinking…for me…it is both.  The obsession I have with this liquid that I pour down my throat that brings me nothing but a few minor moments of relaxation and exhilaration and then despair and longing…is quite ridiculous indeed.  I really want to be the person who can change their life…so if indeed I want to be that person…then why do I continue to repeat such self sabotage…such an engagement with a destructive force that compromises my every moment, my every hour, my every day…sleeping or otherwise?  I sit staring at my daughter’s picture on the wall…one of many…from so long ago…her crooked smile…from me…her eyes…from her biological father…and I wonder…how much have I forgotten from being drunk?  How much did I miss…from being drunk?  How much will I continue to miss…from being drunk?  How much will this writing really help?