Of Marxist equalisers and bingeing

The room was still spinning when I woke up, and I couldn't find that third saridon tablet I'd thought to lay out...you know...just in case. I drank last night. Much more than I needed.... Ok it was worth it, in the end I had a good time with good people. Today would have been perfect if I could have stayed on the couch all day, but now it's time to mentally gear up for going back to work. And the breakfast I just ate really sucked.

Am I an alcoholic you might ask? No, absolutely not. Alcoholics go to meetings. I, my friend, am a drunk. But then who doesn't like to go out after work and blow off some steam over a few cocktails after The Man has spent the last 10 hours of the day winding up. Apparently there are a lot I've come to learn.

However, alcohol is not a Machiavellian end unto itself sans the means, it's just the Utopian end. It's what the proletariat use to stop remembering how deplorable their lives are and what the bourgeoisie use to remind themselves about the greatness of theirs. It's a social conduit that unites people from all walks of life and reminds us that "hey, we're all in this together, let's get bombed and enjoy each other. "

In other news I'm thinking about breaking free from the chains of compulsive eating. My entire life, I've eaten compulsively; I either overeat compulsively, or under eat compulsively. My relationship with food has been built upon a foundation of obsession, compulsion, fear, loathing, and co-dependence. It is not a healthy one. In fact, I'd guess that it fits in somewhere with the types of mangled, hideous relationships that HBO plays thursday nights. I am constantly thinking about what I will eat next. I'm amazed by how much I've accomplished in my life, considering how much of my brain power is dedicated to thinking about food...eating it...not eating...why I can't eat it...why I want to eat it...where was I, again?

Damn, I'm an hour overdue for work.