It was the end of a long day camping, the kids had finally nodded off in their tents all sandy and sunkissed from a day at the beach. The sun was low in the sky and all the adults were sitting around in deck chairs playing guitars or chatting or reading magazines. I sank into a deck chair to rest and just at that moment a friend came into view and crossed in front of my field of vision holding a glistening bottle of chardonnay.
WHAM! I got hit with a pang. It was a classic moment where the alcohol, all chilled in the bottle, looked so inviting and offered all sorts of mythical enticements and promises. I will relax you, it said, I will reward you, I will comfort you. You deserve me. (Clearly I'm in a waxing lyrical sort of mood).
So there I am sitting in my deck chair feeling all sad and left out that I can't start drinking like the rest of the crew. So I went there... in my mind...and imagined myself actually pouring a glass and actually drinking it. I totally went there just to see what it felt like allowing myself to fantasize about drinking .. and low and behold! I didn't want to!! That pang was just a blind shot in the dark of my addiction trying to trick me again into thinking I needed to blur my brain.
I did take myself off to bed earlier than most of our camping crew most evenings but I think that was mostly major MA stress. I have 6 weeks to deliver my thesis and it would be fair to say that stress and I are well acquainted at the moment (Mr D did all the day missions to the beach etc without me and I stayed back at the campsite working on the laptop).
Now I have six weeks to pull my 40,000 word thesis into a shape that will hopefully be passed by my markers. I'm wondering why the hell I ever wanted to do this bloody Masters, but I'm sure when it's done I'll wonder what the hell I'm going to do next. One step at a time I suppose. Oh, and don't drink. That'll help.
Love, Mrs D xxx
