Addiction Story #8, Montauk Daisy: I Love Me, I Love Me Not

Alice doesn’t live here anymore — or does she? I’m gradually finding my old self under the layers of padding I piled on like so many fancy sweaters. And I like her. Here is the eighth story in my flower-titled series about toppling sugar addiction.

Throw out the lifeline — soap on a rope is a cheerful boost when forcing oneself back into good self-care. I bought this Pré de Provence French brand for Dan in Provincetown, on Cape Cod. But here is a shopping link.

I’ve been wanting to write this flower essay all day. But I’ve also been doing my best to reclaim self-care, since it goes hand in hand with recovery — lost on an addictive road, my self-love fell by the wayside.

Now, day by day, I’m showing up for a shower, and for life.

But with that new structure in place, I didn’t hit this green couch in my PJs to start a daisy essay this morning. No, I took time to put on a skirt and top, floss my teeth, even did my eye makeup and applied a dab of beauty cream infused with 24K gold. I spritzed on Trish McEvoy Precious Pink Jasmine Eau de Parfum (a splurge for my #60 birthday).

I did some work — attempts to earn money as a writer — stayed on track with meals, tried to keep Skippy in fully remote seventh-grade classes (that can be a bear) and also did some web surfing to see if Dan and I could maybe, possibly, perhaps, IDK get away in a Covid-safe way for two nights this weekend during the pandemic for our 30th wedding anniversary.