Chances are, if you’re three weeks deep into Dry July you’re currently mentally oscillating between feelings of righteous smugness and utter self-loathing.
- I feel amazing. I am a superior being with an iron will and well defined mid section. Have replaced socialising with exercising.
- 15 days to go. Easy. You just have to stay sober through that 30th, that 60th, that wedding at a winery, dinner with your grandparents and every Friday and Saturday night. And Mondays.
- June-me, you fucking bastard.
- Replacing alcohol with pizza is a healthy alternative, right? Yep, thought so, thank youuuu.
- The house is spotless, car has been detailed, insides of cabinets are clean enough to eat off, and I’ve probably been to Bunnings.
- Coffee consumption has tripled.
- Have only just noticed that Thursday is the actual start of the weekend.
- Was I drunk when I agreed to do this?
- Does Dry July still apply if you cross state lines?
- Does Dry July still apply if you cross your fingers behind your back?
- If you drink a glass of wine in the pantry with the lights off does it count?
- If you think about drinking a glass of wine in the pantry with the lights off do you (maybe) have a drinking problem?
- Is wine the only reason I go to the movies?
- Is wine the only reason I like my friends?
- Is wine the only reason I was watching 13 Reasons Why?
- WHY IS LITERALLY EVERYONE IN MY INSTAFEED IN EUROPE HOLDING AN APEROL SPRITZ RN?!
- Closest thing this can be likened to is the doldrums experienced by sailors.
- Has the weekend always been this long?
- Interminable nothing.
- There is no respite. Just go to bed early.
This is what happened the last time we gave up wine.
Image credit: Gabrielle Stjernqvist