Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Vibrating At Multiple Speeds

I'm still here, though you could be forgiven for assuming otherwise. I could do the Megatokyo dance and apologize for delays, but I'd rather do the Penny Arcade dance and have three posts a week like it's my gorram job. Yeah, that's right: I just referred to two webcomics and one beloved canceled sci-fi show, all in one sentence. My hyperlinks are metastasizing.

But I will explain where I've been. See, for two weeks I got to drink and carouse and work and then drink some more. Fourteen days of business lunch, cocktails at 5 and wine with dinner--not usually to the point of drunken obliteration, mind you, but well into lush territory. And apparently I'm no longer an immortal untouchable youth-god, because as soon as I got back and stopped all this indulgence my body tried to shake itself to pieces.

I had seizures frequently as a child, but they'd gone away for 20 years, and now they're mysteriously back. Could it be epilepsy? A tumor? Nah, MRI came up clean. But, hey, it did appear right after I stopped imitating Nic Cage for more than a few days. My neurologist didn't blame alcohol directly, but I imagine there's a reason I'm not allowed to drink it any time soon.

So I'm left with some questions: did I drink myself into a dislocated shoulder and a freaked out roommate? Do I drink that hard often? Above all, since I've never considered myself incapable of controlling my drinking: Why, when told by a serious man in a white coat that I couldn't drink, was I upset? 

I mean, I like drinking, sure, but I've only ever felt a need to drink during my tenure at the worst Starbucks in the world (you know which one you are), and I got the hell out of there before I could lose it and burn the place down.

Perhaps I worry that without the world's favorite social lubricant I'll chafe myself raw. Maybe an indefinite period of sobriety sounds like a hat sized just slightly too small--wearable, never comfortable. Or maybe I'll learn a valuable lesson in self-restraint, eventually get my freedom to indulge back, and never abuse it again.

On the plus side, I stayed sober at a Cubs game and still had a great time, so I'm already doing better than Homer J. Simpson. ...although I'm pretty sure Carlos Beltran wants to find me and kill me.

 Two thoughts:

1) We all know about the Chinese fondness for photoshop in postcards. But we also know that China's full of landscapes so gorgeous even New Zealand feels a little threatened. Which one is this postcard?
2) I now imagine all camels making ka-chunk, ka-chunk sounds while they stand up.

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