When I was first sober Fridays were my worst days at work. 

At my old job, which I hated, and by Friday I was so worn out by all the stupid shit I had to do and put up with that I had no energy left.  The only way I would make it through Friday was knowing that I could start drinking before the sun went down and there would be no immediate consequences, as Saturday was reserved for sleeping, and then more drinking.  Yup, alco-logic is stunning.  So the first few months of sobriety were rough all around, but Fridays were just brutal.  I was miserable all day and then basically went home to white-knuckle it until Saturday morning, when everything looked a lot brighter.  Friday, the great reward to everyone else, was to me the great chasm of misery.

Things got better when I started teaching, because when I got home from work on Fridays I would cry for about 17 minutes and then fall asleep until Sunday afternoon.  I was too tired to be depressed, or think about drinking.   

I was sitting in adoration this evening and that feeling started to creep up on me again.  Not the “I don’t know how the fuck I’m supposed to make it through this day without a drink” but rather the “well, shit, there is silence waiting for me at home, and this week has kind of sucked” feeling.  It made me think of those other Fridays, those nights that seemed so empty that I would just get lost in them and fear I would never find my way out.

Friday is the day I feel my single-ness most acutely.  The weekend is fine, I’ve got more than enough shit to do.  Work nights are fine, as there is always more work to do.  I feel most single on Friday not because I want to go out, not because of some cliche of youth that demands I be compiling stories and perpetuating my sleep-deprived state.  No, it’s because on Friday night I just want someone to take care of me.  I want someone else to make me dinner.  I want someone to choose which episode of Doctor Who to watch.  I want someone there to hug me, refill my coffee cup, and help me make a grocery list.  It’s the time when I am honest enough to admit that I would like another human being to love me enough to care for me and that I wished I loved another human being enough to let him do that.  I make decisions for other people all day all week long; I direct everything and that’s exhausting.  But between the end of work and bedtime on Fridays, that exhaustion takes on a more emotional life than it does any other time.

But it’s a fantasy.  Like always, an image I’ve built in my head makes me unhappy about something that I don’t have.  I don’t have a perfect man who attends my every need without any sacrifice on my part, because no one has that.  It isn’t real.  When I am married it will be to someone who also worked all week, who also has concerns and difficulties, who may at times need my support more than I need his.  

I must constantly ask myself if what is making me unhappy is a real misfortune, or just a projected desire to be the only thing that matters.

(2 Years, 2 Months and 16 Days Sober)