So I decided to write a blog. Three months ago. Getting the thing set up was the easy part. Actually posting a few words on an otherwise pristine blank page was what proved problematic. I didn’t want to start off writing some lame little ditty for the entire world to ignore. I wanted that first post to be perfect—leave the reader wanting more kind of perfect. And so I waited. I waited for the perfect words with which to begin my perfect blog.
I would still be waiting if I hadn’t remembered that wanting everything to be perfect has pretty much been my problem all along. You see, I am a recovering alcoholic and have spent most of my life keeping all things as neat and tidy as possible. So long as I maintained some semblance of orderliness about outward appearances, I didn’t expect anyone to come poking around. My drinking was my business, the beloved secret I worked like crazy to protect.
Only, my alcoholism isn’t a secret any more. Everyone knows—or at least it feels that way. The entire façade I had worked so hard to maintain now lies in rubble around me. Turns out I am not exceptional. I am just your garden variety drunk. So there really isn’t any reason to expect this to be anything other than a garden variety blog. And, if I’m going to be honest with myself, I have to be honest with you, dear reader. This is the beginning of my blog, imperfections and all.