wachtkamer.

One of the very best things about not drinking is: waking up the morning after a six-hour dinner party thing and feeling perfectly fine. It's a state of affairs that's pretty much totally unfamiliar to me, and today, this morning, (not to be totally lame but) I'm finding it downright inspirational.

Doomsday Rehab Recap:

Alcohol: It's been 25 days now, which doesn't sound like a lot to me: 3.5 weeks sounds like longer b/c it implies 3 weekends, which tend to be the hardest parts. But really, everything feels like pretty smooth sailing right now.

Diet/exercise: mwah. Diet OK, a little more sugar, dairy and meat than I would like. Still no gluten, and I remain skeptical about what if any effect this is having on my system. I mean, I feel great, but that could be attributed to several things.

Sleep: OK, not great. 5 or 6 hours a night. But it's non-alcohol sleep and thus more like real sleep, so it's a manageable situation.

Exercise: happening, but not with the brainless, mechanized regularity that it should. Call this an "area for improvement". Smoking? Could be better, but I'm only smoking every three or four days or so. That's good, right?

So, overall? I give myself a 7. Time to recalibrate and hunker down, etc.

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Still reluctant to talk/specualte about The Exam, so we'll just move on to my Obsession-in-Waiting: I was invited to be part of an ad hoc band that will open for one of my biggest post-highschool guitar heroes-slash-influences, Number 34 on Rolling Stone's 100 Greatest Guitarists of All Time (but I mean Eric Clapton is #2 so it's pretty much bullshit, I don't care what EvH has to say about him).

That's in a week or so, and thus my next 9 days will involve convincing myself to "be the ball" and working very hard to transport myself into the headspace of Ron Asheton rather than hiding behind my more usual Robert Fripp demeanor.

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