Confessions of a Binge Drinker

You would think I would have learnt my lesson by now.

But no.

On Thursday, I drank a lot, prevaricated a bit, eventually went into town. I had a pretty lousy night out (the time I spent here, chatting to friends near and far online was great), and felt as you might expect the next day.

In fact, I didn’t get up until nearly 3 in the afternoon, though that was in part due to my having no access to a timepiece upstairs, thus not knowing the time until I finally got up. When I finally did get up, I binge-ate, as I almost invariably do after I have binge-drunk.

I vowed once again that I would quit. I had no impending rendezvous with friends, and so no reason to go out in the near future. Plus, my mobile phone’s charger has completely given up the ghost, so I had no way of contacting friends in the usual desperate bid to find someone (anyone) to go out with.

However, here I am, Saturday night, late but not too late to go out, and I have been drinking for several hours…

My liver has ached dully for the last 36 hours, though it does that on and off all the time (I must point out that quite in-depth medical tests and examinations have revealed no obvious damage to that organ – it’s just that it is in that part of my abdomen). I know when I should stop, but I also know that is how addiction works: you do it even when you don’t want to, even when you know you shouldn’t.

So now it’s nearly midnight and I am faced with a choice: damage limitation or making the most of my last Saturday at home…

What would you do?