…was deep within and popped up out of nowhere, as opposed to me thinking it over and pondering the pros and cons of such a move, but as I routinely put paper into the printer I suddenly @ 4 ayem said aloud, ‘I need a drink,’ and barked out a couple death-rattle laughs from my constricted throat…
…where did the thought come from…what triggered the impulse…I chuckled a little more at the cunning ability of the left parietal lobe to blind-side me, and of course had the drink, a soul-satisfying Guinness stout which I, ever adaptable (Sonny calls me ‘…a man of convenient convictions…’) and as malleable as Proteus I thought, ‘Well shit, the days shot now…’ - so I followed suit and spun up a fattie and got wasted, which since I’m now well-beyond entry level recreational drug abuse and hitting on the addictive end of the spectrum I said the hell with it I only got one left and I might as well have all my vices going at once, and downed the last percocet, the recalling of which cracks me up as I write about it through a gossamer veil…
…chortling with laughter and with a nod to moderation just a little bit too late, I sit here enjoying my chemical reverie…not exactly a lesson in Spartan behavior nor the role model for anybody but you know and I know that sometimes you just give it all up and get laid back…or wish you could. Everybody gets high on something…it makes it hard to stand in judgment over anybody or anything they might do. And don’t worry, I’m not taking this show on the road.
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