Little Car, Little(r) Me

It's been said that New York City is a town of functional alcoholics (who said it I don't know). While I don't think of myself as an alcoholic, I certainly more than met my quota of happy hours being in the city during the week.

That has changed. Dramatically.

You see, now that I am spending my weekdays away from the city, I am driving. And as I have gotten older, I am more cognizant of the risks of hurting someone else if I enjoy happy hour and then get behind the wheel. (It's usually the innocent people who get badly hurt or die and the drunk driver who walks away from accidents like this.) I could not live with myself if I were to hurt someone while driving impaired. Not to mention the risks of getting arrested for DUI.

But something odd has happened as I recently realized that days without a drink have turned into weeks without a drink. I have lost almost 20 pounds. I didn't realize just how many calories that alcohol was adding to my diet. That's the only thing it could be, since I passed my pre-employment physical with flying colors (well, almost--have a hernia that has to be repaired). Oh, and suddenly I am finding that cash doesn't escape my wallet as frequently.

So now I am the proud owner of a tiny car that gets wonderful gas mileage. And I suppose the loss of weight will help my health. Except now I have to buy some new belts.

One negative to the reduction of alcohol from my diet: trouble sleeping. I have suffered from insomnia from time-to-time in my life. Alcohol, as a central nervous system depressant, will help people sleep. Since alcohol has been mostly eliminated from my social life, the insomnia has gotten worse. So the doctor gave me a prescription to help me sleep. But this particular prescription causes something akin to sleep-walking. For me, it is sleep dialing, which I suppose is not unlike drunk dialing. But I don't remember when I make calls. Nothing weird, or ugly or obnoxious, from what I can tell; rather making plans and not remembering them. Or calling the Good Nurse to ask him to bring me a cheeseburger, when he is 200 miles away. But I found a solution. I hide my phone in a shoe under the bed. Since I have done that, no more sleep-dialing. Others who take this medicine have reported sleep-driving or worse. Thankfully, that hasn't happened to me.

But for now, I will suffer this minor side-effect since I have found a solution to my particular issue. And if I should call you at some weird hour and ask you why in the world John McCain ever selected Sarah Palin as a running mate, you can just hang up on me. I won't remember it anyway.