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.