Now that I was dry, was I still the rock star? Was I still the chick who took any dare, who stayed up the latest, who laughed the longest? Being dry was like being a blank slate. I had no particular traits ascribed to me, no particular habits or likes and dislikes. Would I still like to dance if I wasn’t drunk? Would I still be funny? How much of the me I had come to know over the last decade-plus was even real?
Exactly.
