think back to my first six months sober and how clear it became that I needed my life to not, as the man said, suck balls. It hit me within weeks that I needed a happier job, more practice saying no, more sleep, more time outside. More time in general, for walking the uphills. And it felt futile. The notion of stacking up sober day after sober day until the occasion of my funeral felt fucking pointless. All that effort, just to die. I didn’t know then that eventually I’d stop stacking days. That I’d just be living a life. That I wouldn’t have to pay close attention to every root and rock on
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