really was the greatest. The school had some sort of teachers conference so 3 out of 4 children was going to stay home. Here’s why the day was so great: my husband took the day off and I (who has my office at home, or wait, office… it’s a really big ol’ desk that is covered in books and papers and different chords and chargers and chewing gum) went out into the real world! Sans enfants!

I felt a bit like Magellan. See, I live in a large city but my world has shrunk the last few years and I move around an area that is basically the smallest place known to man. It is  a small triangle where I walk to school & pre-school/grocery store/our house. But off I went! To the library of course. I saw people! I ate food that I had not prepared myself! I caught SO many Pokémons during my lunch break (that I by the way ingested in a lovely park just by the pond)! I didn’t have to take care of a single living thing except myself! I need to do this more often. Maybe I should move into one of those creative freelancers office? Where everyone used to be in graphic design but that’s soo 2011 and wears glasses with brightly coloured frames even though they have perfect vision (I have the vision of a very old bat.) and are way cooler than me. But then again I really should be over trying to be cool by now.

But then I came home and everyone was whining and I started to prepare our dinner and taDA, there she was. The wicked witch. But she wasn’t even close to winning, not even close! Took me about a minute to slap her in the face with memories of my lovely day and the realization that I can have almost as many of those that I want. I can be the libraryworker! Me working from home coincides rather suspiciously with me upping my intake of wine. I do not know if this is a hen or the egg-kindathing, but I need to think about that a little bit more. Sure, it makes a lot of sense – me having my office at home. It’s very sensible. But it has also made it possible for me to be very hung over without having to face anyone and take early afternoons off to prepare some lovely snacks and juice in the garden. Just because that is the kind of loving mother I am… And would snacks in the garden with the children really be so great and fun for everyone if I just stand around drinking nothing? Nope. Maybe just one glass, it is summer/Thursday/the Olympics/my great grandfathers nameday after all. It has made drinking easier and I don’t know if I started drinking even more just because I could or if I have felt lonelier than I realised or if the drinking and the working from home are two separate things. But I need to start thinking about new stuff, not just keep on having the same narrative about myself and my drinking as I have had for a couple of years now. As she says: don’t try harder, try different. I’m going for different this time.





In the dark

I’ve had insomnia since I was 10 years old. I used to get so frazzled around 9 pm and start to panic that I wouldn’t be able to do well at school or not hear the alarm or … we all know it really doesn’t take much to get stressed out when it’s getting late. Anyway, I’ve had it for a long time, sometimes it gets better, sometimes worse, I’m used to it. BUT the wine-induced waking up at 4 in a total state of panic and then just try to desperately soothe yourself and if you’re lucky be able to fall back asleep for an hour before the alarm goes off, that my friends REALLY is the most exhausting thing in all of this I think. And then try to pretend all day that you’re in fact not the slightest bit hung over (nossirrre bob because then someone may suspect something, maybe someone will start to notice that you really do seem to spend an awfully long time in the kitchen whenever you go out there to “just check on something I remembered”, maybe I need to completely and utterly admit how shitty my life has become) and try to make amends and perform and be a loving wife and a supportive and caring mother and the perfect employee all while you are just counting down the hours until you start to feel like a human being again. All those days. ALL THOSE DAYS just spent on trying to survive in stead of live. And then you die.

This night I fell asleep like a baby (What kind of baby is that anyway? And why didn’t I get one of those that just happily sleeps all night?). Out like a light. Then I woke up at midnight by my youngest one but managed to fall back asleep just to wake up again at 2, and this time I knew it was for real. But you know what? Being the only one awake in the wee hours when you’re supersober isn’t that bad at all! You can pick up your Kindle and give those books the attention they deserve, you can open up the windows and look at the stars, you can laugh out loud when the husband and the huge dog synchronize their snoring and the sound is just UNBELIEVABLE or you can just enjoy that amazing feeling of NOT having severe anxiety. I was grateful, I really was, for being able to just be awake and not having to hate myself so much.


PS apparently this is how you spell anything you’d like: (well there’s no Å, Ä or Ö but I have a feeling we don’t need them today)






In theory this is what I want. Complete honesty, being able to stand there, completely (not literally of course, I’m 42 years old and slightly prudish) naked and just state what I feel or am or think or have done and so forth. To show vulnerability and admit how insecure I am or why I did a mistake and try to explain why. You know how it goes. So again, in theory? I am like a super-psyched cheerleader spelling out H O N E S T Y with my body. In reality? Weeeeell. I haven’t been able to concentrate properly the last two weeks. Almost all of my brain power is focused on sobriety (I tried to moderate, I really did.) and very little has been left to do my actual, paying job. This Friday I had a deadline. I have never missed a deadline before, ever. This one I did miss, and I did it magnificently by disappearing and not answering e-mails and having trouble breathing etcetera. Practicing one of my personal favourite coping mechanisms: avoidance. Not very honest, right?

Today I called them and told them I need two more weeks to be able to finish this in a somewhat competent way and BLEURGH. That sound they made on the phone. The double oh’s. First the surprised oh quickly followed by the very disappointed and troubled oh. That was just as awful as I feared it to be. But I survived. No children or legs were broken and the world still seems to exist outside my window. And now they know so I don’t have to be so awfully vague in my e-mails about progress which is such a relief because I really am the worst liar. I feel awful when I have to do it. In stead I have to work hard, both during the day and also in the evenings. I can do this.

So maybe I’m not being as honest as I wish I was but today at least I tried. And now it feels so much better. Maybe I’ll spell out the T and the Y with my body and get to work on the rest.

Now I’ll sing-a-long to this way too loud at least four times in a row before picking up my children.


FUNDAY! No, not really. More like washing, cleaning, cooking.

Forcing dirty, short humans to get in their baths. (All of a sudden it sounds like my life is a lot more like a video with Queen than it really is.) But I’m still feeling very pleased with myself. I guess it’s the feeling of hope and longing at the same time which is a lot nicer of a place to be in rather than my usual self-hating misanthropy lovely Sunday self.

I am slightly afraid of something. If I can manage to get sober and start sorting my stuff out I will likely be a much more demanding person because then there will not be so many obvious reasons to hate myself and then maybe I will start to think that I deserve some things. I am not sure how my husband will react to all of this. He is the nicest man I have ever met, but he’s a man. That means he always thinks that he is worth something and I have now been a very good wife (in some aspects at least) and have desperately been trying to make atonement for my drinking. I have cleaned, and cooked, and washed and taken so much responsibility when it comes to the children and so forth but in my heart I have never ever been the kind of person that enjoys cooking and cleaning and always being taken for granted. I wonder how all of this will pan out. And oh, yes, I forgot. One day at a time. That really is a tricky one, as basic as it sounds.




I made it

I brought 2 N/A beers, had them with me in a tote bag (classy lady, eh?) and sneakily opened and drank them and no-one could tell the difference. Even though I don’t even care at this point if they had seen me or not – if they want to think that I’m pregnant and/or an alcoholic then I’ll just let them.

I put on a nice dress and some ridiculously high heels and off we went. God how these people bore me when I’m sober. All this talk of different schools, vacations, sailing, hunting, the price of homes in our neighborhood … But I’m good at small talk but I almost skipped when I walked home. No more BOREDOM. Or at least none of that superficial, slightly humblebragging nonsense.

The husband stayed. Of course, I knew he would. Even though he agrees with me that these people are so boring they can make the clocks stop ticking he still wants to go back? Why? And if the women are boring (and some of them had strangely tight looking faces, have they had work done on their skin as well as on their houses this summer?) at least they act friendly to my face. The men though. Just one big pissing contest. Unbelievable that he would want more of that. But then on the other hand, this is the kind of people he’s used to, I am not. I am a little climber of that class ladder, socially moving myself three steps upward and that makes me very uncomfortable. Nevermind that now. I made it. I’m sober, I’m home, it’s 8:45 on a Saturday night and I’ve got a whole bag of crisps stashed in the cupboard. I need to start eating more anyway, I will not switch drinking for disordered eating, not this time.


This made me think of an album with Built to spill but apparently that isn’t on Spotify just yet. It’s called Perfect from now on. I know life won’t be perfect. I know almost nothing will be perfect from now on, but at least they will be better. They will be sober. I needed to get angry about this to get my spark back. I’m ready to fight now. Fight for me, and this, and everything. I’ll post another song with them, it’s a really good one – listen if you’d like.



Dear husband brought home four bottles of rosé yesterday because of … god knows. The weather? Us being so grumpy? The last breath of summer?  Now they are all gone.

I’m just so, SO tired of doing this all the time, feels like I’m a hamster stuck in one of those sad little wheels.

Facebook posted a picture today that I had taken exactly four years ago, 20120826. That was the first time I tried to get sober after that horrible drunken mess I made at the big neighborhood event that takes place this time of year. I look absolutely horrible, not unlike what I look like today.

I’m just so angry. Why, why, WHY can’t I just stop doing this shit? So angry. Furious. This fucking shit ends now, I can not keep doing this, year after year. Four goddamn years. I will not waste another day, let alone month or year on this crap. This ends now. NOW.

Falling apart

It feels like that. But I’m sober, that’s something, right? I have 8 days now. If this had been my first attempt I would have been very proud of myself, now I just feel jaded, greedy and eager to get to not only double digits but triple.

My family is not doing very well when it comes to adjusting after 10 weeks of holiday. I’m having real trouble when it comes to being able to concentrate and do my job which causes stress/me being in a bad mood. The kids are so, so tired all the time and that makes them fight ALL the time and scream and tease and act out and being just completely unbearable to be around. They also refuse to go to bed early without screaming and fighting and when we make them anyway they are so agitated that they’re unable to fall asleep and then they’re tired in the morning and REPEAT AD INFINITUM. It’s very unpleasant to be around them and my mood obviously doesn’t help and I’m annoyed with the husband for not doing 50% of the chores, more like 20 at best and that causes us to be annoyed with each other and there you go. Everyone is pissy and I just want to run away from home. Mature, right? I’ve started to do lists of things that need to change. I’ve done this before. The problem is not identifying the problem and coming up with a solution, it’s the following through that’s always been the main problem with this family I have created.

Gah. I’m just so ANNOYED with everyone at the moment. I just want to be left alone.

I’ll write my list today. I’ll email it to my husband and this time we need to follow through. How hard can it be? Jaysus. I just want to take myself out of this mess and we all know how I used to do that: Escaping problems for lazy people 1.0.                                                           Since getting shitfaced is no longer an option I need to do some work to change things around here. Ah. So much work.





along. No desire to drink but one of my kids are getting bullied at school and that is taking up a lot of my thinking at the moment and is exactly the kind of uncomfortable stress that I usually drown in chardonnay. But I need to toughen up so I can help my kid with all senses intact. I really don’t like children, most of them are feral creatures that are spending their days at school trying to prove Darwins theories. Gah.

Off to school for a meeting. Wish me luck.

There is a shift

that comes around the fourth or fifth day for me. That’s when I’ve been able to stay out of the winecycle for enough time to clear the mind and get some decent sleep and are once again able to make decisions on my own that are less affected by chemical/alcohol-induced anxiety.

This Saturday there will be a huge party in the neighborhood. One that I have stayed away from for four years due to, yes you guessed it, one of my worst publicly drunken incidents ever and the one that really made me try to get sober for the first time. That time it lasted 3 months.

I still get all sweaty when I think about it. Yes, the waves of shame are rolling in. Oh, I was so stupid. Everyone (except for my husband) thought I was just the life of the party (or so they have told me, who knows what they really think) but I know how close I was to doing some real stupid shit and that was the first time I REALLY realized that I can not trust myself when I’m drunk. Close call that one and as I said, it still gives me terrible anxiety. I have manipulated and lied and schemed to make sure we have been out of town for the last four years but this time the date was announced too late. I have decided to buy some NA beer and bring them and I will stay for two hours and then hopefully me AND my husband will go home and have a nice and quiet Saturday night. Oh how I wish this will happen. I do not want him to stay behind when I go home. I just want us to be able to put in an appearance and then that can replace those awful memories of the last time and I can finally move on.


Ramble, bramble

So. I really felt the need to do the dishes/laundry/mow the lawn/change the beds but then I realized that what I REALLY need is this. Writing. Grounding myself, take a second to think. That’s a need. The other stuff can be taken care of later.

The main reason I thought that it would work this time was this, the writing and blogging and participating. I have already read all the alcoholic women memoirs and tried doing it by myself, that obviously didn’t work. So I need to prioritize this.

I wonder what the issue is that I am so desperately trying to avoid. What underlying pain or distorted thinking is it that makes me do all these somersaults and behaviors? I’ve been thinking about the self-hatred that comes with the drinking and I realized that maybe it does serve a purpose. It’s an isolated thing that I can hate about myself and that keeps me away from the other stuff I need to work on. Like the worrying about other peoples well-being; again, keeps the thoughts and feelings away from myself and my own pain. God, I just wish I knew what it was all about. Is it really just the fact that my father died when I was four and my stepdad when I was 7? I mean I understand that must affect a child in some way but is that really it? And I also understand that the only way for a small child to take control and try to prevent that from happening again is blaming yourself when it happens and now, 30-something years later it is just so deeply hidden and intertwined and has become a part of me that I can not reach it. Of course I know it was not my fault, of course I know that with my conscious self but how do I get in touch with that other part and tell her it’s not her fault, it’s just life being at it shittiest?

Ok, so kids running wild here. Tomorrow I’ll write about how me being the selfless martyr is in fact the most self-absorbed thing I can do, much more selfish than just saying out loud what I want. But then again then someone can say no. Gah. Must run.