Strung Out

I’m not sure what happened last night, but in the wake of anniversary lunch (11 years together since our first date) between the wife and I, I went down.

And not in the way I prefer.

No, one glass of merlot and two beers into the afternoon, I succumbed to a near-migraine, an upset stomach and a body that gave me one big middle finger.

I don’t know if it was the booze or all the excesses of the past month or two, but I went down hard.  I felt like I hadn’t slept in days.  My stomach churned and cramped.  My head throbbed.

Twelve hours of semi-fitful sleep later, I’m awake, and in better shape, but excess is the furthest thing from my mind.

It is time for a sabbatical.  Not from writing or self-promotion, but from excesses of the flesh.  No more big food or big drink; only focus and mental indulgences, perhaps a few more lascivious matters.

After all, I have an anniversary to avenge.

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