Three days stone sober. What a feat for a fully autonomous bachelor such as myself. What a feat for living in a country where there are no liquor laws. This belongs on a resume. Unfortunately I wasn’t drinking hard enough beforehand to notice a difference when I stopped. It’s residual Christianity. (You can take the boy out of the church, but…) I can’t even sin hard enough to have dramatic one-eighties. Goddamnit. I’m going to have to crack one open Friday night. Otherwise I’ll be healthy. Wake up one day and be eighty-five. Why is the prize for not dying that you slowly devolve into a walking mummy. Who the fuck set this whole scheme up.
One of those days, man. Where I straight up pillaged shit from top to bottom. Cleaned worked wrote emailed signed up for a road race. Even got a nap. Even experimented with sexting but like, only sarcastically. I’m still afflicted with the echoes of piety; can’t fully commit.
Unfortunately this is one of those weeks where I feel like I can do anything. I’ve been here before and promised myself the moon. So I’m anxiously waiting for the good times to pass so I can know what’s actually possible. Took me twenty-seven years to call myself on my own bullshit and campaign trail lies. Gonna have to institute a high mental exchange rate for promises made during the good weeks because they’re worth less than a Chilean peso. Man, I’m wise as fuck.