Time for the detritus to shine...

I'm pretty sure that the few people that were following my blog that aren't subscribers are no longer paying attention (read: Danny's friends that were expecting me to talk more shit about Tiffany), so I'll continue. Yeah, it's late. Yeah, I'm slightly intoxicated. Let's move on. My birthday is on Friday. I'm turning 29. (sips on a glass of Kestrel's 2007 Syrah) I'm not so coooo with it. Tristan's turning 4 this September, and we're looking into preschool for him. We would have done so last fall, but li'l boy was a bit too smart for that. No point in investing in schooling when he already knows the course material. I'll take a little bit of responsibility for that (more because of his inherited big head), but most of that has to do with Allie's tireless mommyhood. We were separated from November 2009 until...last fall, when we started to work things out. I was officially asked to move back in on Valentine's Day of 2011, so technically it was for over a year. Counseling has worked wonders for us both. I was seeing a counselor for a few months before we decided to see the same counselor for the sake of our marriage. You'd think that there may be a slight conflict of interest there, but not really - most everything I talked about with him had to do with the relationship I had with Allie. Once we started seeing him as a couple, he really put me on the spot. And you know what...that was a good thing. Anyway, Allie has asked me to not be so forthcoming with information about us, so I won't be. Instead, I'll talk about me. And you know that's a subject I'm more than willing to expound upon. I am an alcoholic. It runs in my family. I've fed into it since I moved from smoking excessive amounts of weed to drinking excessive amounts of alcohol. I think what tapped into my familial tendencies derived from a simple equation: when you're young and you're smoking pot, once you're familiar with the drug, you tend to try to get as high as you can. Once I started drinking, I translated the same feelings to alcohol: try to test your limits, and until you establish them, get as 'party-time!' drunk as you can. Unfortunately, if you leave me to my own devices, it doesn't always, but sometimes will, get past that point. I've had more blackout nights than I wish to admit, and to be honest, I'm not going to remember the entirety of this post. I'm most likely to wake up tomorrow and remember I was at the computer, and then freak out about what I said. It's sad, isn't it? I'm coherent right now, but my first reaction tomorrow is going to be to delete everything I said while I was drinking, because I'm afraid I might have said something offensive. Yet, Chris, you're going to remember that you posted on your blog, and you're going to re-read everything you just said. And, yes, you're going to leave it up. You know why? Because you're being as real as you can be right now. Devolving into self-flagellation is not the direction I intended when starting this post, and I think I've done enough of it during my mental vomitus. My (our) counselor has suggested, because of Allie's response (which I may delve into in a minute), that I quit drinking. Because of this, and the discussions we've had during counseling, I'm quitting drinking shortly after my birthday. I say 'shortly' because I'm sure, much like celebrations of the past, my birthday is going to last a couple days. However, once I'm done, I'm done. I'll go out with you if you want, but realize I'm gonna be pounding Sprite (well, preferably ginger ale), and this doesn't mean I'ma be your DD when you're done obliviating yourself. Goodnight, people. Learn from me. Thanks.