Remembrances

I've pickled my liver over the weekend. I blacked out twice, two nights in a row. The first night was at the casino. Next thing I know it's past 8 in the morning and I'm eating breakfast with around two grand in my pockets and absolutely no clue how it got there. Then, after breakfast, I decide to go for one last spin on the way out: "How cool would it be to win ten grand on a single spin?" I recall drunkenly asking. Friends tried to talk me out of it, which only makes things worse, really. Still a good night, but I kinda wish I hadn't come to over breakfast. Ah, 9, 31, and 34! How you've betrayed me! Still walked out with a good bit of dough, but only a fraction of what I could've.

Saturday, I'd meant to bring a bottle of Jager to this party, but changed my mind about attending. Instead, I chugged the whole thing while walking between bars. I remember nothing about my destination or how I got home. Oh, the year of the boar! How destructive is your beginning!

There are force-fed geese, who if they were to examine the state of my liver right now, they'd give me a hearty "hah-hah". I spent the last 36 hours in bed. Sunday evening, I had a couple friends come by and turn me over to keep me from getting bedsores. I read an amazing book, Malcolm Gladwell's newest, "Blink", which hopefully atoned for some major IQ loss the night before. Do gambling problems and drinking problems cancel each other out? If they work well in tandem?