While my computer is broken, this is my update, typed on a computer shared by four people in an office shared by 15--

My Gramma passed, and she took my alcohol consumption with her. Seeing her crazy daughter (and my mother!) for the first time in five years, all drug-addled and unable to recognize her children by face or voice, well, that helped, too. I'm straight edge again! Except for the fish and the periodic cigarette and the occasional 'bump' when the party's flagging, I'm pure as Ian MacKaye, 1988.

What could he be saying?

The debate re: whether or not I am an alcoholic rages on between friends and Sister and myself, a little bit, but in the end: my Grandmother was an alcoholic, and my mom is that and so, so much more; some of the cousins have it, the unquenchable thirst following that first beer. As it stood I had a maximum of two hours of pleasure from drinking for every six hours spent worrying about money and calories and behavior and the eventual destruction of my eventual children's lives due to my eventual descent into alcoholism and Borderline Personality Disorder.

To sum up:

"It's the right thing to do."

And I'm happy about it, which is the most important thing: my happiness. Fantastic things have been falling into place, as well, although other excruciating happenings prevent me from thinking that I fell from drinking into life's great jello pool of predetermined goodness. Constant bliss and good luck happenstance would be boring anyway, and would not provide me with enough funny stories or teeny tiny reminders that being alive, while often mind-blowingly tender and precious, is also ridiculous.