The article chronicles the author's experience with Dry January, depicting the humorous misunderstandings with his wife about when the month of abstinence actually begins. The author reflects on previous attempts at Dry January, noting a mix of obligation and peer pressure influencing his decision to participate this year. He anticipates common struggles, including disrupted sleep and fleeting grievances about the necessity of liquid consumption, ultimately acknowledging a sense of confusion regarding the perceived benefits of the initiative. The piece captures the nuances of social customs surrounding drinking and the varied motivations to abstain.
By the morning of the third my dry January is truly under way. I can't recall the first time I endured dry January, but I know I tried and failed in 2012.
Even with the increasing atomisation of the calendar of monthly privations… dry January retains a certain purchase on the public imagination.
I knew that at some point mid-month I would wake up thinking: I honestly imagined I would feel better than this.
I've done it enough to know what to expect: a couple of nights of poor sleep; a sense of grievance that slowly dwindles until it only lasts a quarter of an hour.
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