Is it an eating disorder or having amazing willpower?
I decided yesterday that I wanted to do a quick two week detox. I was planning on staying away from beverages with alcoholic content for fourteen days. The reasoning behind this is because I felt as if my face was getting the drinkers bloat. It is resembling somewhere in between the face of Amanda Bynes in her recent mug shots and that of a corpse that has been pulled out from a body of water after a week’s long time. Of course I did not plan on living the next two weeks in complete sobriety, I had mentally mapped that I would trade in the drinking for some old-timerish pill popping. Unfortunately my plans were quickly derailed by one of my enabling buddies.
Due to my lack of self-control it took approximately two text messages to convince me that I was acting like a clam and fell off the wagon with Speedy Gonzalez like swiftness. I do not know why these people encourage me to drink. I am a bit of a loose cannon when I am not intoxicated, I can’t imagine why people feel like liquoring me up is a good idea. It just makes me reach louder levels and completely kills any concept of filtration of my thoughts. Of course, then I come up with what at the time seem like the greatest ideas. Case in point, last night at about two in the A. M., I suggest we voyage to Foxwoods Resort and Casino. Somehow that idea fizzled, thank goodness gracious, because I would really hate my life even more so today.
So here I am, on this average Wednesday, with a face that is swollen and a bit of bar stank still oozing from my pores. My face today has taken on the form of a cross between a boxer after the first round and Martin Short’s allergic reaction scene from the film Pure Luck. I feel like I have Rocky Dennis head. I’m a hideous puffy monster with a touch of mongoloid.
I am contemplating on pursuing my own personal Double Dare style physical challenge. I’m not talking about searching for a flag in a pile of enormous Uncle Buck style pancakes. I’m thinking more along the lines of taking the entire month of May and not indulging in any of my vices, no smoking, no drinking, no drugging. I would be forced to live life on the straight and narrow. It would be thirty-one days of squeaky clean. I have yet to decide if I accept this mission as it seems like hard work and I’m really in this anti-hardworking phase currently. I also think I would crack in about two days which is depressing to realize how weak and dependent I am. I guess I have a few more days to see if I should attempt this death defying act. (Yes, it is death defying because the thought of not having those crutches makes me want to die of boredom.)