Euphoria goes... Trolling along... Work and unwork... Faces, welcome and unwelcome.

THIS week, the euphoria of being sober has started to wear off. I've written before of the 'and now what' reaction and the feeling of the realities of life which I had so assiduously avoided in my insobriety crashing around me.

I've mentioned it to the nurses who supervise my Antabuse. They've been sympathetic and understanding: "Remember why you stopped drinking in the first place," one said, and it's good advice, so on it I shall try and stay focused.

Frustration and self-loathing, over sensitivity and anxiety are now my chief problems. I do get incredibly angry with myself if things even start to look like they might be deviating from the planned golden path (with apologies to any Peruvians reading). Freshly detoxed, there is a belief in one's own invincibility and power; released from the shackles of a daily dose of a strong depressant the mind starts to soar.

My way of thinking is scatter gun; my magpie mind has made me a pub quiz champion, but, now I crave focus. So, I'm full of ideas - poetry, articles I can write, screenplays of long-loved books, comedy. But, none of these ideas are given anything like the appropriate amount of attention needed to bring them to fruition, before another ten pop into the brain space. Result? Massive disappointment, a subsiding into the "Well, you can't do anything can you" mindset that is such an enemy to staying sober and the concomitant self-loathing.

I raised my anxiety problems - I genuinely do believe I'm more sensitive to my surroundings than many other people, I'm constantly jumping at stuff in my peripheral vision and earshot - to my key worker at the Community Addictions Unit. Also my worry at being kicked off the benefit I was on. He said there were drugs I could be prescribed to help with the anxiety - he mentioned Prozac, which I've taken as an antidepressant and didn't have a happy relationship with - but it was something for the future as they wouldn't work well while I was on Trazadone. Fair enough. I'm not keen on mixing chemicals at the moment. The other prescription is more natural - relaxation techniques, like breathing and mediation, and that's on my list.

So, to be positive, here I am BEFORE 9AM, writing my blog - one of the few tasks I have set myself and had any success at keeping up.

Life has been going OK. And, indeed, in the spirit of celebrating achievement rather than brooding on failure, I do remain on top of domestic duties and have made a few potentially difficult phone calls regarding benefits, appointments and the like. Hoorah for me - hold on there Cardiff Drunk, don't get carried away.

Oh, ok. I've also been emailing off for jobs, wasting far too much time on facebook (a new enthusiasm - I signed up ages ago, but never really used the site, but now it's in danger of joining the bad list), and I've been appointed as Assistant Editor of a website.

That's the biggest plus I guess. It's not paid, but it's a substantial and popular site, I've really enjoyed writing for it and I'm getting regular emails of stuff to edit for their blog - good CV-filling stuff.

Mrs CD is on holiday this week and next, and suffers no such problems with filling her time. After a day's rest to recover from recent over-exertions, she took me by the hand and led me gently to the local DIY superstore where paint and brushes were purchased, and as I glow virtuously with my early start at the keyboard, she's slapping blue round the walls of the kitchen - it's bringing her such pleasure and looks great.

We broke the pattern yesterday with a walk and a lunch out. I managed to locate the community centre which hosts the martial arts class I was interested in attending - this is another step in that direction, the removal of another excuse for not going, I know myself very well and I'm terrible at coming up with reasons not to do things.

I saw two old compadres. One, a drinker from the pub I used to go to but no longer frequent. He was on his way for a drink, but seemed happy enough to see me and we had a brief chat about the evils of the world. The other was far less welcome. A fellow patient on the detox ward - the one who stormed out then returned drunk and shouting to scare the life out of me. He was drinking in a courtyard in City Road, and I could tell from his voice he was well along. I heard his voice but we didn't speak and I'm pretty sure he didn't see me. I held Mrs CD's hand tightly, put my head down and virtually dragged her past his perch.

Seeing him was the last thing I needed.

If you spent it, thank you for your time.

The Cardiff Drunk.