Beside my favorite chair, there rests a small book filled with daily readings, thoughts, and prayers. Each morning I add a number to that of the previous day and mark it on the page for today. This morning I wrote the number 900 there, and I took a few moments to look again at some of the older numbers. The shaky number 1 is still there, triggering a flood of feelings and memories from a miserably unforgettable morning almost two and a half years ago. It marked the end of the first twenty-four hours in eighteen years that I had willingly, though unenthusiastically, refrained from drinking...
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