A traditional Italian toast–“Cent’Anni!”–blesses the toastee with wishes to live 100 years. I’ve walked this earth made from 75% Italian and 25% French stock, never having toasted much of anything (with the exception of my twin at her wedding. But not before I got into the champagne). I jumped to drink before the host got a chance to toast. It’s kind of like being that girl who is two bites in before she notices that other people at the dining table are waiting to bless the food before they eat. Madonn’.
In other news, I turned two years sober like a week ago. On Saint Patrick’s Day. This might be a sacrilege, considering the patron saint of the Eye-talians is Saint Joseph. He has his own day, too. Let’s chalk it up to an accident. By the time I was ready to get sober, the days ran together. I had no idea if I was in March or May. Needless to say, I’m thrilled, I’m happy, I’m turnt–it’s March 26th and I know who the President is.
I am a #babyteacher now. My anxiety is at an all-time low. I still go to meetings. I pray to Bowie (perhaps another sacrilege). I give less fucks than I did yesterday. I give more shits than I did a year ago. I practice yoga. I am devoted to a man I consider the love of my life. I’m that girl–yeah, that other one. Lucy 2.0.
Point being, I changed. We all change. It’s possible for people to change. I’m not currently dying from the disease of alcoholism. My soul is intact. I love. I am loved. I’m here, should you need me.