Years ago I had a very strict Saturday morning routine.

I got up by 7am, ate breakfast, made a HUGE pot of coffee, put on whatever disc had arrived from Netflix, and cleaned my apartment from top to bottom.  (Except vacuuming, I hate vacuuming and never do it.)  I was usually done between 10 and 11, and then I would shower and get on with whatever else my day entailed.

I loved my Saturday ritual.  It kept my living space neat, it was time to myself where I felt both relaxed and productive, and I never felt like my weekend had been “wasted” because even if I didn’t accomplish anything else, I got that done.  Sometimes, if I’d been out late the night before, I wouldn’t get up until 8am, or I’d need a couple Advil before getting started.  But this tradition was part of the way I lived my life before I was an alcoholic.

Once that shift was made (when I no longer had a drink because I enjoyed it, but because I NEEDED it), my Saturday mornings changed.  It was something I noticed but didn’t think about too closely.  Because I was passed out instead of sleeping, I got up later and later.  Soon, noon seemed like a perfectly appropriate time to start my Saturday.  A few Advil and a bagel no longer shook off the vestiges of beers gone down.  Soon a new Saturday routine developed and it wasn’t pretty.  I would drag myself from the bed to the couch, turn on whatever I left in the DVD player, lie there until the room wasn’t spinning too too much, make the hangover french fries I kept in the freezer, and drink Diet Coke until it was time to shower so I could go out again.  My apartment would get cleaned whenever it was impossible to get into the kitchen because of the piles of beer and wine bottles, or when the black bookshelf looked grey from dust and cigarette ash.  My insides and my outsides were literally a mess.  If anyone asked my how my weekend was I would say “oh ya know, hung out at home” and change the subject.

It wasn’t just that alcoholism made it physically difficult to do what I had done before, it was also that I didn’t want that time to myself.  Cleaning, for me, is a huge part of how I put my mind back in order.  I can’t think in cluttered or messy spaces, and putting things where I think they belong, and making sure they’re neat, gives me the internal space to put myself where I think I belong.  Everyone who meets me thinks I some anal retentive nut job clean freak, but it’s really just that I am incredibly claustrophobic, both internally and externally.

Things are different now.  Being sober doesn’t mean that everything goes back to exactly the way it was before you became and alcoholic.  If it did, then you would just start drinking again, because things exactly as they were had some fundamental flaw that propelled you to drink.  So my Saturdays are different now.  Most Saturdays I have errands and appointments that can’t wait until the afternoon, so I’m out of the house by 10 am, not to return until the late afternoon.  I also live with a roommate, so it isn’t just my stuff in the apartment, and she feels judged when I clean up her things, so I wait until I can’t live with it anymore.  I try to keep my own space pretty neat on a daily basis, so there usually isn’t a great deal that needs to be done all at once.  (I do need to take out my garbage, I’ll do that today.)

For the most part my breakfast, coffee, and recollecting has shifted from Saturday to Sunday.  I get up without an alarm, get the caffeine flowing, and (usually) catch up on the news/blogs/stupid internet stuff that I’ve missed during the week, or return emails I haven’t gotten to, or talk to my mom.  Now it is a lot more about putting information in order than physical objects.  Sometimes I catch up on an episode of TV I’ve missed.  It’s all very slow and relaxed.  Eventually I put on real clothes, go to yoga, get my grading and planning done for the week and finish out the day with Mass.  Besides the coffee, there really isn’t much commonality between the old routine and the new one.  Except that once again, I can spend time with myself.  Even if I’m not super enthused about who I am on a particular Sunday, or the week that I had leading up to it, I look forward to having some time in my week to take stock, do what makes me relaxed, and preparing for what will come next.  When I was drinking that kind of time was the last thing that I wanted.

Time for another cup of coffee.

(1 Year and 45 Days Sober)