Know how, when you’re out drinking and everyone keeps asking “Are you ok?” every 10 minutes?  Dammit I hate that.

Then again, how would I know what’s good for me?  I’ve been drinking.  The brain cells are taking it easy, swimming in what appears to be the puddle of what-used-to-be their peers, liquified by the booze.

— And I would think that I’m fine, shrug it off and chug some more.  One of my more apparent flaws — I’m very susceptible to temptation, or polite asking — rears its high and mighty head.

A conversation earlier with Cheekie made me think about this — of the times that I’ve been drinking and have said that I was okay (when I probably wasn’t), in my mind, the audacious little creature that it is, would think that, I’m pulling off sobriety really, really well.  —  Then I hear stories the following day.

My current mindset of “live fast, die young” takes over, (when it shouldn’t) spoiling the already-spoiled(spoilt?) image my sobriety keeps bringing into the picture.

Maybe I’ve had enough.  Or maybe I’ve seen too many ghost rafts and dinosaurs (of which none of you will believe) for today to make me think that I should respect the booze a little more.  My body is, after all, a beautiful temple of bacon, steakhouse burgers, crispy pata (among many many many good-for-the-soul epicurean delights), a lot of Coke, and maybe cigarettes for incense.  And I should take care of it more.

Am I making sense?  (Will edit tomorrow when not too wobbly.)

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1. but i really did see dinosaurs!

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