Sublime

For alcohol, this means up to 1 drink a day in the second and third trimesters, and a couple of drinks a week in the first.

When I got sober, I quit bingeing and purging, but I never really learned to feed myself. A lifetime of bingeing was enough to prove to me that my appetite was animalistic and shameful. It was not to be trusted, so I locked it away. I treated my hunger like a prisoner. I doled out daily rations of food-like products—tiny portions of bars, shakes,

I could hold my alcohol, I’d been perfecting that very British skill since the age of thirteen.

Removing alcohol, and allowing time to pass so my system could normalize, has allowed me to genuinely enjoy the most mundane activities.

Being a writer was hard, I had decided back then; getting drunk was easier. Now that I was sober, I felt like I was getting a second chance.

I am susceptible to frivolity. I know this about myself. I love beauty; I am weak to surfaces; I am apt to mistake eccentricity for character. I drink more than I should. I love overdressing; I love staying up past midnight; I love breakfasts at all-night diners, and the Irish coffees you order when you can’t decide whether it’s night or morning.