So, of course, within days of writing this, what should show up at my door in the guise of a housewarming gift?
The. Devil's. Drink.
A big blue bottle of Bombay, in fact.
So, of course, much debauchery ensued, and the demon likker got ahold of me good. I don't remember much about Saturday, but I think there was a social gathering involved. Of course there was a social gathering involved. That's how the Devil's Drink works. As far as I know no lampshades were donned. But I have dim memories of a goat and some kind of dance involving palm kernel oil.
The other wonderful thing about the Drink is its lovely interactions with SSRIs of various stripes. Instant return of prior symptoms. Fabulous! So all day today I was beset with my old friend, anxiety.
All of which is my own fault, of course. All talk of deeemons and devils aside, my compulsions are psychological, hatched in the complex webs of my own battered psyche and, were I a better man, I would resist them with Victorian vigor...which is to say, my drunkenness would be a private affair, except for maybe in the brothels I'd visit every other weekend. In addition, I'd have syphilis and a snuff habit.
But never mind that! Tomorrow is another day, full of more opportunities to succumb to mental mischief.
