I had a relapse.

I feel like a failure.

This morning, I woke up very early. I had the idea to put the Monday Night Football theme song as my alarm, AND put the alarm away from my bed. It worked, I was up immediately. I jokingly commented on a video of the song, “this may save my career.”

Unfortunately, though, I chose the wrong mode of transport, and ended up being ten minutes late anyway…. Yay. Pure accident. But I have been late a lot. I need to get it together. It’s not easy for some people, but I’m close to getting there. Close doesn’t count though.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I wake up in the middle of the night. Because of that, my brain was melted. I had a lot of coffee, so I thought maybe a beer at lunch would help. It didn’t. I made the very unusual decision to leave work early.

I had a lot to drink that afternoon. I drafted this post by hand, from the bar.

I spent a lot of money… I don’t know if I have enough to even go to my psychologist’s appointment. I hope so. That’s kind of the point of going to therapy.

This honestly feels like a figment of my imagination, but I swear it actually happened. I was alarmingly drunk, and I started talking to the Canadian woman next to me. She took my fountain pen and wrote in my notebook. I was praying to every God under the sun she knew how to use a fountain pen, but sure enough, she didn’t mangle it. She wrote:

Next time you’re in Canada, visit London Ontario; namely the Waltzing Weasel and the Runt Club bars (sure enough, those are real places). Do awesome […] with awesome people, life’s too short.

It’s making a little emotional thinking about it. I shouldn’t drink alcohol, but alcohol does give me the confidence to speak to strangers, and the vast majority of the time, they’re cool!

I’m ashamed that I face literally the second weekday with a little bit of money, and I fold.

I came a bit late home. My phone was dead.

Last time this happened, I went running to a different city and was homeless for three weeks. My Mum has repeatedly said, don’t panic. If you’re late, or drunk, call someone and they will help. I called my sister, because hers was the only number I remember. She dispatched my brother to pick me up, and he drove me to the shops to get a spare charger to keep at work.

When I got home, my Mum gave me a little talk about how important it was to keep my phone on charge, because she wants to keep communication. And she said that if something happens, like you’re late, or you lose your job, don’t worry, no-one’s going to murder you over it.

It’s not going to feel good telling my psychologist I had too much to drink on a Monday afternoon, but at least if it happens, my family’s there to help.