christmas memories

My buddy Ryan pretty much nailed it on his blog post about the nostalgia of Christmases past. Each child that celebrated Christmas has their own unique memories of the holidays. Some lose their innocence of the mystique behind it later than others, and some never understood it or lost it at all. T The theory of Santa was never ruined for me. I was never told that he doesn’t exist, so I was never crushed from reality. I instead pretty much realized it on my own, more than likely around the age of nine or ten. It was a slow and gradual transition of realizing that there was no way that the fat man could be at two places at once. So…he’s live on TV, but yet there is a thinner and more lively version here at Grandma’s giving out presents.
After that I slowly embraced the “idea” of Christmas. That it was a time of giving, forgiveness and celebration for not only the birth of Jesus and the highpoint of various religious faiths across the planet, but a coming together of family and friends to express joy and love for another.
It’s a spirit that we usually lose around January 2nd, whether it be from the accursed hangover from New Year’s Eve or the inevitable return to the working grindstone.
There are memories that I do cherish for my own around the holidays from my youth that can never be replaced, yet are now substituted with current traditions. Back then, one of our uncles would go dress up in the shoddiest of Santa suits in the garage of grandma’s house and then come strutting up the block ringing a cow bell on cue from uncle Frank as he was in the living room telling stories to all us kids. He’d make us all sing carols and would call the “north pole” to find out if Santa was inbound In the air or not. Usually my Godfather would wear the suit, it really only fit him well. Some other uncles did it a few times, and even a few of my cousins or aunts, and yes, even I donned the ancient garb once to play Santa. That year Santa was the buffest and tallest he’d been.
There was always dinner and foodstuffs out on my grandparent’s dinner table. Turkey, bachaiau ( salted cod fish), desserts aplenty, appetizers and the always present bowl of M&M’s. There was always my Grandma’s Portuguese rice pudding that was well, too damn good for words. You never noticed it as kids because you were too involved with playing with each other or eagerly awaiting Santa, but man there was booze all around. Our aunts and uncles could, and still do drink like fish.
Grandpa used to have a warm fire going as he sat in HIS easy chair watching the family enjoy themselves around him. Then usually about 10:30-11pm, We all got dragged to midnight mass at church. In my family’s earlier days as Portuguese Catholics, it was mandated that you go. Now it’s a stark contrast as only a rare handful go to mass. My parents have been the only bastion of reliability on that part, due to no small part of them being dedicated to the choir.
The air back then for a 10 year old was damn near ball freezing. There was always frost on the roofs, and as you walked out of a toasty warm house to get into the icebox of a car, you’d see your breath all the way. In fact, you’ll see your breath during the entire car ride to the church. Midnight mass back then truly was midnight mass. It would start at midnight and end at 2am Later on during my high school years, the parishioners decided to try and get a bigger turnout by starting it at 11pm. It increased the turnout for a while, and then the demographics of the attendees and the housing area changed to a larger Hispanic population, which changed the mass further and eventually forced the change of priests, choirs, parishioners and finally the entire attendance. My parents finally gave up on Mt. Carmel church when I was in college and they moved, along with a choir director and other members to their current location at St. Pius, a few miles to the southwest.
The only true feeling that hasn’t changed all that much is there has always been a reason to come home Christmas eve after the festivities and mass. My parents and I would turn on a Christmas carol or Pope mass program, have a light snack, maybe some tea and give each other our gifts and maybe have one waiting in the morning for us.

Still getting shots in

Ok, so this year hasn't been the bestest of years. It had its fair share of uplifting moments, but encompassing the financial and political quagmire we are in, along with family and friend illnesses, general malaise and discontent, and a earlier this year failure of a needed change in direction in life, come this Christmas I was ready for the new year to start fresh. This holiday wasn't going to let me off with just a whimper though.

I got back to Cali Sunday night. I was supposed to get in early Sunday afternoon. Let the drama commence. This is where i think global warming is a crock of shit, and I am forever trusting in my recently read farmer's almanac for 2009. Man may be dumping astronomical amounts of pollution in the air and causing little events to go off, that I accept. Considering how small we are in relation to this planet though, the earth has the power, at any time, to set things straight. That includes a cooling trend. I've seen countless specials on the discovery channel, PBS, science channels and assorted educational places that are saying just that. But "global warming" is a nice attention getter by the media lately either to make you watch their broadcast or to sway your opinion towards one faction or the other. The 2009 farmer's almanac predicts record cold, snow, and rain for the majority of the country for the winter of '08-Feb 09. No joke dude. As of Dec. 25 2008, three-fourths of the country was either covered in rain or record snowfall. The exception- Miami, Florida at 81 degrees.

That all came to fruition on Sunday when I tried to fly out of Phoenix. My plane, Southwest 1411 was to fly from Phoenix to San Francisco for its ending leg after coming from Buffalo, and then Chicago. Four hours later I was able to board my bumpy-ass flight flown by, I swear, Stevie Wonder. Or at least should have been, because a blind guy would have flown better.

It could have been worse. That day as I waited, every airport along the west coast north of San Fransisco was shut down. People trying to fly to Portland or Seattle were grounded until Christmas Eve...3 & 1/2 days later. I guess I'm lucky.

It rained every day here. Not that I don't mind, I love the cold and rain. When it's a arctic storm barrelling down on you with 70 mph wind gusts, it sucks. Makes fireplaces and coffee so much better though.

Monday and Tuesday were easy days. Shopped with Mom, cooked dinners, just hung out at home. Tuesday night was when shit started going wrong.

I noticed that on Tuesday afternoon, my computer was acting strange. I hadn't really used it since the airport Sunday afternoon, so I thought it was odd. I cleaned it up, ran a virus check that came up negative, and then ran a spyware check that turned out a result that led to a two day struggle to save my system. The results turned up the infamous Vundo Trojan. Its a nice adware pop-up virus that nestles deep in your start-up and registry which produces ads and pirates vital personal info to whomever is lurking around as well as slowing down your computer by more than half. I try to remove it. Program removed. Restart. Run check again. Program not removed. Do it again. Same result. Did I mention that this fucker SELF-REPLICATES???!! I had to spend 2 days, buy one $40 virus program update, download 5 (yes five) additional free spyware and registry removal programs and spend a lovely time to try and eradicate this menace. I just now think I eradicated it. I'll know for sure in the next 24 hours. If I get another pop-up, I'm still screwed, but for now its all good.

Back to the timeline. I went to the cemetery to visit my grandparents, then to Kepler's books to get a pair of new books. On the way home I stopped by the old Union Army cemetery off of Woodside rd just to walk through. Its small, run down and covered with leaves of hundred year old oak trees. I had never been to this Heritage and historical site. In fact, up until I was about 11, whenever we would drive by, I'd close my eyes and duck in the seat because I was terrified of this place. Granted, at night, this place is spooky and formidable. I guess it was a bit of closure for me to walk through it. Lastly, I stopped at Chuck's to get a couple donuts for home.

Dad made beans and ham in the slow cooker for dinner Tuesday. Crazy tasty by the way. Unfortunately it wasn't sitting well with my that night. Jenny calls and wants to head out to the Orchid Room for drinks. Cool, we cab it, head there and have an awesome time. For the record, her friend Candice is hot. Anyways, I know what I can handle before things get crazy. I have a couple jack and cokes, a beer, a shot and sipped a jack on the rocks at the end. Not much by my standards at all, and on a very full stomach. We make last call, grab a taxi and head home. I have a buzz, but nothing major. Get home, make a quick and light sandwich on a small roll, eat and get ready for bed.

Usually when one vomits, it's preceded by several stages, especially from drinking. Most of the time there is spinning involved. Followed by profound sweating, saliva rising up to lube your throat, and the first few chew-backs. But there I am, happily in bed when I get awakened by my own stomach retching without me knowing it. I instinctively grab my trash can and heave it all in there. The contents? My sandwich of course. Hardly any liquid. Most vividly though, Dad's beans. I cursed my ass off, as I, now soberly, grab the blankets that got soiled, the trash can and storm into the garage and slam them in the washer at 3 am. All the time cursing under my breath and thinking " what the hell is with this shit??!" I get back to bed and sleep with my thermals, sweat pants and a blanket. I get up in the morning to awaken to, not a hangover, but mudbutt. I crapped more times in a day and a half than I do in a week. The whole day too my stomach was in a constant state of nausea as well as having sore abs from chundering and anal purging. It was a nice Christmas eve. I wasn't social and felt like crap.

Mom, Dad and I agreed days before that a nice crab and lobster dinner would be nice. It's one of my favorite things to eat, but let me tell you that in the condition I was in, having to cook live seafood and then disembowel and devour said critter on your plate was retched. The only thing that saved me was the taste of it and my hunger pangs. I didn't spend the night down with the family at my Godfathers. I ended up actually going on my own to meet up with my parents as they sang at their midnight mass. I was sure I was going to burst into flames on entry to the church, but being Jesus' birthday, I guess God felt merciful. I figured a little theology and self reflection would do my system better than hanging and partying with the entire family.

After church, we all made a quick stop by to visit the family and drop off gifts. We chatted for a bit before heading home to a needed rest.

A second and more vicious storm dropped down on us Christmas Day. It was in the fortys all day with hurricane force gusts that knocked out the power here for over an hour and snow topped the local coastal mountains, which is very rare.

I had my appetite back today and felt well rested. My nausea is gone, but the mud-butt is slowly being replaced by mostly stinky gas. Our trip to my uncle Frank's house was good. I was definitely more social and ate a lot of excellent food. On returning, I (hopefully) eliminated my computer virus and was able to relax finally before I catch up the storm that just rampaged through here on my flight back to Arizona. I'm happy that everything turned around to be ok after all.

All mine

I recently came across an idea of spawning a new blog. A private one actually. I was browsing around on my friend's site and came across a few secondary spawned sites that were created. The things posted were basically the same, but the use of language and topics were a little more extreme and from the gut. I was surprised to see them from DR, but it was refreshing to hear my friend's voice telling the same or different stories in a different way. Needless to say, I think I am going to try and create a new place just for me.

Why not just create a journal on my computer and not publish what I type? Well, for one, it gives me a peace of mind that I feel like I have actually gotten something off my chest, or knocked a chip off my shoulder, or even confided in someone. Second, I don't intend to, if I do decide to create another site, to make it 100% private. Chances are I'll invite only the closest of family or maybe a friend to access it. Otherwise, well, sorry, the info isn't meant for you to see. I still have to decide.

Flying the friendly skies

Ah air travel, remember back in the days of the younger years? Hell, I still remember when smoking was allowed on flights. Along with complimentary meals, extra snacks, free headphones, more legroom, hot stewardesses, no threats of terrorist takeovers ( and speaking of, I miss not being able to take my pocketknife on a flight in case I need to defend myself or open a rogue bag of unopenable nuts).
I’ve noticed certain things when I fly. I’m not exaggerating on these next few items either. First, it doesn’t matter if I show up an hour early, two hours early, or 15 minutes before boarding, I am always one of the last ones to board the plane. I can remember once, I was on a night flight to San Diego back in 1994 to shack up with Ryan for a few days and check out some colleges to go to. I boarded in San Jose, and there was literally about 12 people on the flight. I still got a end of the line boarding pass and had to sit through the gate attendee go through the usual rigmarole of having to follow row calling procedures. Second, I always…always end up sitting behind a person who has to recline that damn seat back into my face. Pardon me, do you have head lice? Well I can see them. I’m also writing this on the plane right now at a 30% twisted side angle because of said lady who is in fact, having her head relaxed back far enough into my chest. At least I have the entire row to myself and I can spill out into the next seat with my gear.
Lets discuss the peanut situation now. I like nuts (not that kind of nuts you pervert). I like mawing down on an occasional peanut or 40. Now, there is something magical about that small pack of fourteen $236 airplane peanuts. It’s like, even if you don’t like nuts, the fact that you forked over two hundred bucks makes you a instant fan. Some people are fanatical about them. In fact, if they don’t get that nut sack, it’s as if the world is ending. Now pay attention to the nut eating etiquette. You have different classes of eaters. You have the solo artists, who try to moderate and ration the peanuts as if there is a planewide peanut shortage of biblical proportions which makes them either save the bag for later private time off the plane or more commonly, they’ll sit there eating one peanut at a time like some rabidly obsessed squirrel. On the opposite spectrum you have the peanut glutton, who will inhale the entire nut sac in one fail swoop. The human peanut vacuum they are. Guard your nuts on your life, less they will suck your bag into the gaping abyss too. Myself, I am a happy medium. I get about 5 nuts in my hand and toss about 4 of those sized handfuls into my gullet.
Now then, as for other observations…hmmm…lets see. Let me look around the flight here…you have the old salty war vet and his wife up front. Both are above 80 years old and smelling of a curious concoction of ben gay, mothballs and sauerkraut. Granny saved her peanuts in her purse for later. No doubt that in that bag of hers there is at least 10 other bags of nuts, a pack of sugar free gum, butterscotch disks, tissues, big red blood pressure horse pills, and assorted trash bits.
There’s the young make-out couple across the aisle. They are taking cuddling to a whole other level. As well as making out. Yeah, ok, we know you guys are so in love that its sickeningly sweet. Its as if I downed an entire bottle of pancake syrup and then brushed my teeth with butter-cream frosting. As for you two lovebirds thinking you’re being slick by trying to cuddle underneath a tiny sweater…I know what various hands are doing under that thing. Find the salami anyone? Possibly a rousing game of stinky pinky.
There’s the mid twenties sports dude who’s dying for a beer but in no way can he afford the exuberant cost for a small adult beverage in-flight. Instead, he resorts to trading barbs with his buddy across the seat from him in a adolescent, fraternal, closet gay way. He’s not gay though, no way dude, he loooves the ladies, and GO (__insert local favorite sports team here to validate masculinity__)!!! I joke though…but he is an Oakland A’s fan though…
Of course, there is always that taboo single traveling hot chick that you in no way feasible have the cojones to talk to, but you damn wish you were sitting next to the entire flight. The only problem is that if you were sitting there, you would no doubt get caught at least a few times starring at various sexy body parts. Yeah horndog, I know, I know. You would like to give her a tour of the cockpit, but face it, your best line would probably consist of something along the lines of offering some airline peanuts which would end in one of two ways. One, she’d take personal offense in thinking something is subliminally meant by offering her to put your nuts in her mouth to chow on, or two; she would be one of the two earlier discussed peanut eaters, which would either make her a crazy nut hoarder or a disgusting nut consumer. Either way, you lose, so go back to reading that skymall magazine and imagining fantasies with her every 30 seconds or so on average that guys think of things sexual.
Amazingly, the one thing that I am missing on this flight is either the 300 lb behemoth of a person that is sometimes crammed into the seat next to you (that you usually get instead of the hot chick, and he smells of a wonderful goat cheese & acidulous B.O. stank) who asks for (actually demands…and you will comply if you wish to live) your spare peanuts, or the lovingly loud screaming child that will scream for no damn reason. I swear, you could have the most fantastical perfectly heaven-send breast that you or the entire world would want to suckle on in front of you kid, but instead you decide to screw the entire flight’s passenger’s universes by yelling your head off. Remember kid, one day when you’re thirty, you’ll be sitting next to a super-hot babe making your move with your peanuts and there will be a mother and child in front of you who will interrupt your stinky pinky game by reclining all the way back into your chest to scream its head off. Karma’s a bitch kid.
Now then, let’s put up that tray table and seat to it’s full and upright position and prepare for landing….*ding*

Up til today

I'm at the airport at the moment after working last nite and a 3 hour nap. I'm flying home for one day, my Dad's birthday. 70 years ago in a tiny town in the near third world Portuguese island territory of the Azores, Papa Alfredo was spit out into the world. It proves to show that nobody knows where they're going to end up being in life down the road. I should probably thank him for getting out of that backwater island town or I wouldn't exist today.
So, tonite, we are having a small dinner with two of his brothers and us. We're making a ham and some sides, and we ordered him a nice birthday cake. It will be a long day for me today since right after I get off the plane and in the house I will be cooking and prepping. I shouldn't be able to relax until about 11pm, and then its off to sleep before coming right back here to Phoenix tomorrow. It will be worth it though.
Mom decided to get him a nice watch for a gift and I booked all of us a trip to Kauai in March for a long overdue, relaxing family vacation. Unfortunately due to a unforeseen credit card hiccup, the surprise was blown for him as he got wind of what I was doing. He doesn't seem to be putting up a fight for right now, but I'm sure he will try to be pessimistic about it. He's already tried to drop the "we can't make far future plans because we don't know when doctors appointments are going to be" excuse. I told him to shut it, seeing that the trip is 5 days and he can schedule around it.
I think its a trade off now days for what we have to give and learn from eachother. He's shown me temperance, financial smarts, do-it-yourself skills and determination. I think it's my job to show him how to enjoy life a little. Outside of roadtrips to Arizona or southern Cali ( which usually always have a tie-in to a business agenda), the last vacation, or family vacation at that too, was in 1994 when we all went to the Azores. Over 14...FOURTEEN years ago. There's something inherently wrong with that.
Outside of plans for today, this week has been a, um, average week with some interesting nuances. It's been week two of being off my vitamin supplements, and my sleep has continued to be better and more resting. The awkward part about it is that as I sleep, my dreams have gotten exponentially more vivid and intense. The strangeness of the dreams varies, but two nights ago I had a strange dream about a lobster king disguised as a human attempting to kill us all. With the assistance of my boss, some of my work crew and my ex girlfriend, we lured him into a steam tunnel with abandoned cars in it and "steamed" him to death.
Crystal has been making near nightly cameo appearances in my dreams. Some are disturbing, most of the time we have an argument in the dream and things are just awkward for the mostpart in them.
Work has been good for money this week, unfortunately the clientele has been lackluster. Assholes and elbows mostly. There was a pair of fights last night, including one outside that starred a chick vs a dude. I'll give the dude some credit, he let her wait on him for a bit before common sense clicked in his head being..."alright, if your talking shit like a dude, starting a fight, and hitting me like a dude...it's on." He ended up hitting her a few times in the face, giving her a lump on the head, a busted bloody nose and a fat lip. Some customers and employees broke up the fight, but no repercussions were made on the dude seeing that everyone agreed that the girl was deserving of him defending himself.
I made 30 clove garlic chicken Thursday. It was delicious.

A grand experiment

It was a bit strange not having people over or to go out for Sunday football today and not tearing it up. I did have a productive and as ease day off however. I got up at 11:30 after a 6 hour sleep feeling refreshed. I put some ball on as I got a light breakfast together and defrosted a steak for dinner. After that, I gathered a bank deposit and walked Jenny on a 4 mile walk to the bank and back. I took my time and even drained my iPod battery on the stroll. I got back, paid my bills off, finished laundry, had some lunch, picked the last crop of my peppers before winter claims back the plants, reorganized the patio and played some games before having dinner and watching discovery tv.

The past few days I've been working in the garden, planted a tree, baked some banana and cranberry breads, tidied up the house some, Christmas shopped and other small stuff too. I was wondering how I suddenly got enough energy to do things again this week.

Well for one, I wasn't hungover after a Sunday party day, so yes, the refrain from liquor is definitely a plus, but I experimented a bit further. For the past few months I had been maintaining a steady regimen of supplements for my meals (or lack thereof). I was taking a daily dose of Vitamin B-12, echinacia, DHEA, and another multivitamin. The echinacia and the DHEA aren't the problem, but the vitamins, I feel, were throwing my body even further out of sync. The B-12, while not harmful to your body, effectively acted like a energy booster. Unlike a drinkable energy drink like Redbull or Rockstar which have a heavy vitamin and sugar crash, usually B-12 doesn't have that serious of an effect.

Unfortunately mixing the supplements with a hangover caused a very ugly rollercoaster ride that made me even more moody than I usually am. So this week, without taking supplements and not drinking, I am sleeping less but with more rest and have been very productive this week.

I'll see how this next week progresses going into my Dad's birthday next Sunday when I go home for a day.

drudging up the past

I was digging around for old photos of family to make presents for some of my family when I dragged up some pics of Doug, Dirty Ryan and I from well back in high school. It's amazing how fast time passes!

At Pescadero beach in January of 94

Ah, Dirty Ryan on one of our many bike rides back in the day. I bet Dirty missed that good ole bike.

Ryan and the Dog Broad Izzy at Pescadero

Douglas "reflecting" on something at Bean Hollow beach

Ah, the infamous trizan hack pick in front of Ryan's house after a hacky sack session back in 93. I really...really miss those shorts. I literally wore them until they were nothing more than ripped strips.

Making it look like Christmas threw up in my house

There, that's catchy! Raaaalph!! Or should I say Rrruudoooolllfff Christmas all over my house!

Besides that, I really do love the Christmas season. I had a productive day today on my day off getting the house ready for the holidays. It's always ironic though that in my 13 years out here in the valley, I've only decorated and stayed here for Christmas one December 25th. On a side note, I'll never do that again because that year was the last Christmas my grandfather had alive, and I missed spending it with the family.

So, the house will get all decorated up and have nobody here for the holiday as I always go home for a week. I do put up a mean little tree though.

I do have 2 traditions here at my house for decorating. One is that every year I buy one new ornament for the tree that has some kind of meaning.

I think I have 10 years of unique ornaments on this tree this year. This year's ornament is a red, green and silver handpainted glass ornament I got at the Phoenix art museum when my parents and I visited it in October. Most of them have a small story behind them, good or bad.

Secondly, I am unique with my outside lights. All my neighbors have a constant theme, either all icicle lights, all multicolored lights, all white lights, stars, blow-up snowmen, or those damn automated wire reindeer. Me, no...I go for the tackiest house on the block. I got them big old-school, suck the power company and my wallet dry colored bulbs right next to a rouge string of white mini-lights, next to a bunch of flashing blue & white minis, next to solid blue big lights, next to a bunch of oddball placed lights. It's organized chaos.

It looks good. You know why it does? Because its different, yet traditional. Here's how its going to play out. The Smith family is going to be rolling around the town one night looking at light displays in their mini-van with little Jessica and Thomas in the back, and they'll be saying, " There's another house with all icicles...there's another blow up Tigger Santa Jes....WOAH! Hey, there's a different house guys!"

Point for me. Take that you icicle whores!

So yes, productive day, woke up at 10:30, had a cup of coffee and some cinnamon toast then spent the next 7 hours decorating the inside and outside of the house. At 6pm I headed over to Sam's club after a brief phone call to my Godfather to get a bag of Jenny food and a take and bake pizza for me. I had a few slices for dinner, went through the mail, started writing blogs and Christmas cards while keeping the Christmas music channel on til my ears bled red and green.

Funny, I walked into Sam's club and everyone I passed looked at me kinda funny. I thought I had a stain on my shirt or a booger bungee jumping out my nose, but when I checked, the only thing I found was a big smile to give to everyone from having a good day dealing with Christmas stuff.

Climbing out of the rabbit hole for a dose of reality.

I had a tiny experience of a moment of clarity last week. Now, as it's widely known, I like to drink from time to time. Lately it's been getting not only boring and repetitive, but the next day gets rougher and rougher as I get older and it isn't that I do anything stupid, damaging or bad when I do drink (with the exception of occasionally lifting a bottle of hot sauce from the local bar). In fact I'm usually a happy, entertaining, accommodating and sociable drinker, but it's more so the likelihood of what I may likely become as the years creep up on me.

As my family's history dictated, my father's side is Portuguese-so we not only drink a good amount, but we also are known for making our own booze to support our habit. On my mother's side is French Canadian, and believe me my grandfather and my uncles (who were all in the services) loved and still do love their beer and whiskey in grandiose amounts. I remember tales of my father meeting his brother in-laws and tearing it up around town back in Rhode Island in the 60's.

I tend to stay closer to the flock on my Mother's side. Not only to I look more like my deceased grandfather who died with a pickled liver, but I may be his soul re-born as per a tale my father told of he and I in his truck when I was 3 and talking to dad like said deceased grand-dad whom I never met...but that's another story for a later time.

Am I using heredity as a crutch? No, of course not, but it helps to know where one comes from.

My parents do not drink, or at least any longer. That stopped years and years ago before I could remember.I can recall though, my father buying a case of Lowenbrau and trying a sip of beer when I was 5. I hadn't had my first full taste of booze until I was 20. I didn't get drunk until I was well after 21. So it's not that I was a rebellious kid in high school, or even fully through college. The irony of it is that I've worked in a bar for almost 12 years and have half my kitchen turned into a full bar.

The question I have for myself is, do I have a problem with it? No, i do not have an addiction, nor am I dependant on liquor to have a good time. When I come home from a day of work I do not have a drink. After a closing shift when everyone else on duty has a cocktail or four, I have none. I don't crave liquor nor do I need it to function. I DO like to have people over and have fun on my days off if I so elect to do so.

When I do get that one or two days off, I decompress so fast from not being able to let go all week or two that I really tear it up in one day. Its the next two days after that hurt. Lately that's been wearing on me.

When I do not drink for a while, not only do I drop weight, feel more energetic, become less moody and save money faster, but I generally feel healthier, motivated and more centered instead of being on a rollercoaster ride of a good high to await the crash and burn low.

Accepting and realizing the possible future physical ramifications as well as the cost of a good time, dealing with the dregs of a progressively worsening next day hangover, I wish to leave the secondary rabbit hole world for a while and balance out a bit. I'm going, to the best of my ability, take a break off drinking for a while, at least 3 months.

Maybe I'll go for a hike instead.