Excess

It's been said that nothing exceeds like excess and, with that in mind, I must admit to being exceedinglingly excessive in my pursuit of drink and smoke last night. But it was my birthday, so what the hell?

I smoked two packs over the course of the day, including more than a pack while sitting on Kilgour's patio into the wee hours of the morning. As beer after beer was consumed, accompanied by round after round of birthday rum, my hands reached endlessly for my smokes. You smokers understand that strange unwritten rule of physics, the one that says the number of cigarettes you have increases exponentially the more alcohol you consume. I had too much of both and today even the thought of a smoke is revolting.

But I won't be too hard on myself. Given enough time each of us will always find someone else peering crone-like over our shoulder, happily pointing out our mistakes and failures. By the way, when one of those people enter your life, do yourself a favour and tell them to piss off.

Still, perhaps overindulgence is the key, especially with the party at my house this coming Saturday. Just smoke myself gross using my own brand of shock therapy, until each cigarette becomes a more repulsive proposition than the last. Hmmm. Perhaps.

In closing, although I have never licked the bottom of a dirty ashtray, I do believe that I can state with a reasonable degree of certainty that that is what my mouth tastes like now.