repost: ninety days

I mentioned to someone yesterday that nearly five years later my first 90 days of sobriety were likely the roughest for me. This splendid post from the pickled pastor neatly sums it up.

the pickled pastor

I was told to look for the little things.
That they would be what mattered,
the moments I would remember.

But there are no little things.
Just these billboard-sized celebrations
marking my journey from nowhere.

Another hour.
A glimpse at love.
The comfort of warm slippers.

Who knew absence
would clutter up my life
with such all encompassing joy?

No nausea.
No tremors.
No regret.

Only hope
and the delightful buoyancy of being.

View original post