MODERATION IS THE KEY
Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation ~ Saint Augustine
Years ago I was watching a talk show, and the featured guest was the president of a major brewery.
During the interview, This corporate CEO insisted that drinking at least one alcoholic beverage a day was good for your health (what the hell else would he say? He was in the business of selling beer).
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
It’s a foregone conclusion his health regimen never really worked for me. Hey, I can appreciate staying hydrated and all, but I think that guy was talking about people who can take one or two and walk away.
Are you kidding me?
I’ve never been able to have a “couple” of anything and walk away.
I’m an alcoholic. Always have been, and I always will be, while I’m living in this incarnation.
The hallmark of the alcoholic is pretty much an ‘all-or-nothing’ sensibility.
Nothing is ever enough. No prisoners.
Drink until:
A. Your supply runs out, or
B. You keel over.
I don’t know about you, but I always drank like a lobotomized lab rat hitting the feed bar.
Back during my college years I saw someone having a beer first thing in the morning.
Someone looked at him incredulously and said, “Beer? You’re drinking beer for breakfast?”
The guy shrugged, looked at the label, and said, “Why not? Barley malt, rice, yeast, water, hops, beech wood aged…only the finest ingredients. Everything you need for a balanced and nutritious breakfast.”
(I’ve yet to discover the virtues of ‘beech wood aging’).
It seemed reasonable and It wasn’t long before I was doing the same thing with impunity.
In time I graduated to Screwdrivers, and I rationalized the hell out of that, too: “There’s grains and stuff in vodka, and Vitamin C in the OJ. This is really healthy!”
Healthy my ass.
I had a friend in college, (actually, I had no true friends, I had drinking and drugging associates) and this guy was a full-blown, shit-your-pants rummy. His name was Doug.
During semester break, Doug’s parents drove all the way up to our campus in Henniker, New Hampshire from his hometown of Princeton, New Jersey.
They spent the day with their knucklehead son, and took him to dinner at one of the nicer restaurants in Concord.
He was now pounding down beers in my dorm room with several other people (a common occurrence). As the party started to wind down, one-by-one everyone left until Doug was the last one there.
He was drinking a beer and chatting when an expression of sheer alarm suddenly crossed his face.
He ran to the window, threw it open, leaned out, and barfed out that lovely dinner.
He then turned around, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, took a swig of his beer, smiled and said, “I’m all set now!”
And that was the type of person I hung out with..water seeks its own level. I can’t believe I actually thought I was having fun.
That was a lifetime ago, and I now associate with a completely different caliber of people. Of all those knuckleheads I hung with, I’m the only one who actually made it to A.A. I’m the last man standing. But here’s the Deal: I couldn’t do it on my own. No Way.
I had to come to Alcoholics Anonymous to discover a secret that had been hiding in plain sight for my whole life.
I don’t do this stuff perfectly. Nobody does.
I just do the best I can: Get up, suit up, show up, and never give up.
HERE’S THE TAKEAWAY:
Constant vigilance is the key, and I’m always reining myself in.
I don’t want to brag or anything, but I possess this uncanny ability to absolutely abuse the living hell out of anything.
If I had a hankering for Frosted Flakes, I’d be eating them around the clock. In time, Tony the Tiger would make me nauseous.
Reminiscent of Malcolm McDowell’s Aversion Therapy in ‘A Clockwork Orange.’
I saw a video that touted dark chocolate as being extremely healthy for your prostate. Guess who’s habits started to affect Ghirardelli stock?
Soon, it was clear that enough was enough.
A healthy prostate is small consolation if you’re a fat, repulsive slob.
It’s a sad state of affairs when you can’t even keep Oreo’s in the house in safety.
The Good News is (if there’s any to be found) I am now onto myself.
If I permit myself to start eating ice cream, or yogurt covered pretzels, I’ll be chowing down on that stuff the way I drank screwdrivers.
Before long, I’d need to strip naked and butter my body to move from room to room.
At least I won’t get arrested for driving fat.
