So, it began again as usual last night. No, no, I'm not going to drink any booze tonight, I told myself. But, trusty as ever, willpower had left the building. It was the Friday BBQ, the one with free staff beers, and lo, many were consumed. Then I went out, to the Great Northern pub, and Cocomangas, one of the two nightclubs, finally getting to bed at something past 5am.
Which made getting out of bed this morning somewhat tricky. I managed it at about 11.30am, having woken up at 10.30 and decided that the world didn't look that forgiving. A major hangover is usually no problem, cured by time, water and the life-giving ibuprofen. A major hangover coupled with having to work is a problem, however. Taking out the rubbish and cleaning the toilets while hungover/still drunk is bad. No, bad doesn't even begin to describe it. It was categorically one of the nastiest hangovers I have had, from the point of view of looking up from cleaning a toilet bowl. So it got me thinking, seeing it was that or give in to the shakes. Incidentally, it's quite handy when you're cleaning as the job does itself, almost; you just have to hold you hand there and the dirty marks magically disappear in a post-alcoholic blur.
So I was thinking - why is it that lately I can't seem to go out to a pub, or even have a few drinks, without getting totally plastered? Why not just have a few drinks, then chill out? Tricky to do when the last four years have been spent doing this very thing ritually with my mates, most weeks of the year. Thing is, I get the taste for it after one drink, which ineveitably leads to another, ad infinitum. So I've decided to take a break, a sabbatical, a rest from drinking. I was talking to Kelly earlier (a girl who works here) who told me she hasn't had a drink for 3 months, and that she feels a lot better for it. Now I'm not talking about giving this wonderful drug up, just trying to negate it's effects when drunk in large quantities, and by trying to drink (lookout, shocker) sensibly. Alright, so this doesn't leave out getting hammered every now and again, just not every time I go out for a drink.
I thought up an analogy for my situation earlier. It's kind of like a blind man out walking and hearing the sound of the sea. He knows there could be a cliff ahead and that he could fall over, so if he's not mental as well as blind, he stops and turns back before he's fish food. Then he goes out and gets himself a guide dog, probably a Golden Retriever, and calls it Ben. He feeds it and washes it, and takes it out for walks in the park and lets it sniff other dog's butts. I think I've taken this analogy a bit too far, but the bit up until "fish food" was valid I think. You can only abuse your body so much, and I have abused my body so much. Time for an adjournment.
Fear not, compadres, I haven't gone soft on you out here, but having nothing other to do of an evening than chat to people you don't really know leads to some boredom, relieved in part by alcohol. Sessions will be 'avin when I get home, but I think I'll save them for the special people. You know who you are. And I know where live.
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