Fuck Alcohol

Seriously. Fuck it. I can't do this shit anymore. I am so far out of practice that I am half past embarrassed by the amount I can put away anymore. Put away and not be on my knees, swimming in my own insides on my college roomies bathroom floor.

I can't do this shit anymore. The two-day hangover is not worth it. The no longer being able to remember all the events of the evening is not cool. Being hosed the entire next day and forced to eat at McDonalds to cure the gut rot is not acceptable. I drink like I still go out six nights a week. It must be the end of an era. I suppose it had to come sometime and it's never when you expect it. If I could get shitfaced without hurling to the point of wanting to die and begging my babysitter to take me to the hospital because I'm convinced I have alcohol poisoning, and without being laid out all day feeling like an utter pile then I would be all for it. Hell, if I could manage to simply have A cocktail. One. Singular. Solemente. But it's a slippery slope and I slide fast.

It's no longer fun. No longer a good time. Someone sign me up for a class on moderation because I apparently have lost my capacity for it. And I've got trips planned, people. Send help. Quick.