The phantom comb (and other analogies)

I recounted on Froogville a little while back how I had finally been driven to shave my head.

I'm quite happy with my 'new look', overall. And the initial novelty is wearing off: I no longer find myself stroking my own head every couple of minutes to test the continually softening texture of the bristles.

However, it's beginning to bug me that every time I step out of the shower - every time I set foot in the bathroom for any reason, in fact - I suddenly find my comb in my hand.

I am still a good two or three months away from needing the services of a comb again. At the conscious level, I am fully aware of this. But the more primitive centres of my brain are obviously locked in a (disturbingly vain??) set pattern of "bathroom - mirror - COMB".

I am trying very hard to 'reprogram' myself, but..... every time I relax my vigilance the slightest little bit, the subconscious takes over and I'm picking up the bloody comb again.

I fear I have the same problem with drinking and bars. At the conscious level, I am very happy with my decision to abstain from alcohol this month. I don't think I've ever found it easier to undertake one of these dry spells. I'm actually, sort of, enjoying it. I'm starting to think that I could extend this run of abstinence beyond my original plan of 28 days - or at least, cut down very drastically when I do resume my wicked drinking ways.

Except that...... whenever I'm in a bar, something like The Phantom Comb Syndrome takes over: my subconscious brain doesn't get the whole not-drinking thing, and it keeps nagging me, nagging me, nagging me, two or three times every minute: "Why haven't you bought a drink yet? Why haven't you bought a drink yet? No, not that - a real drink! Why haven't you bought some alcohol yet??"

I think this is why it's such a trial for me to stay DRY if I go out on the town, why time seems to drag so terribly. It's that nasty little ingrained habit in my subconscious mind to expect an alcoholic drink every time I'm in a bar, peevishly piping up to register its complaint and bafflement every few seconds. That, I think, is what keeps reminding me of the (non-)passage of time, and can make the evenings seem so insufferably long.

Well, I suppose I have reinforced that expectation countless thousands (gawd, probably tens or hundreds of thousands) of times now. It's quite a task to try to undo that much conditioning. I'm not sure that I'm ever going to be able to throw the 'OFF' switch on that pestering inner voice.

Then again, I haven't picked up my comb for a few days now. Maybe there's hope......