By rights I should be just arriving in Dundee sans footwear with a Darby full of Swiss chocolate (see Saturday's post), because once again a Saturday night's socialising became an expensive blizzard (£100 approx). We were home by 2am but I was wired until 5, when half a bottle of wine and a tumbler of neat Pimms finally put me the right side of consciousness. Sunday - once again - was a write-off, save for a trip to Spar via the pub, and a diet of pizza, Pepsi and TV in bed. I had the worst nights' sleep in years last night, I kept thinking someone was breaking in the house during semi-consciousness and bouts of sleep paralysis, and when I did sleep I dreamt of zombie carnage and gruesome, violent attacks. I can feel wrongness coursing through my veins like narcotic slugde; a bile of fat, salt, sugar and booze. My attempts at a 24hr detox involving consuming no more than a pint of water every hour fell down at 10.45am when I finished off the pizza.
I've come to accept the fact that I can no longer socialise in a drinking environment without involving hchello mate, but that doesn't make it all right. When the people you're with are of the some ilk, willpower plays second fiddle to the effects of ones first few beers. But, today is a new day, and what can I do accept regret my actions once again and promise myself that things will change?
I pick my folks up from the airport at 11pm tonight, than tomorrow I'm going to a comedy night to sound out a compere for the website launch, so it's not even like I have an early night to look forward to. But I did tidy the bedroom and change our bedding earlier, so at least the room no longer gives Tracy Emin's exhibit a run for its money.
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