This is yesterday’s. Got in late, ill, so didn’t do it then.
I am strangely careful to the point of being a bit of a weirdo (THERE’S THAT WORD AGAIN) when it comes to illness. As we all know, coughs and sneezes spread diseases – but they don’t. It’s touching infected surfaces then putting your hands on your eyes, nose or mouth that actually spreads diseases.
If only there was a rhyme for that.
As such, I try my damndest during cold seasons to avoid putting my hand in my mouth and sucking on it for four hours after I’ve just been rubbing a door handle as used by 230 gravely ill people. Also I use soap to wash my hands. It works pretty well, to the point that I am not ill very often. The opening, emboldened, line being as it is though, you know where I’m going with this.
It may have been something else. It may have been building. It may have been an allergic reaction to New York, or being cooped up in a room with 150 fat, sweaty American games journalists for three days. It may have been any number of things. But I can’t help but think it was that damn karaoke – sharing the microphone with other people, inhaling their diseeeeease and becoming this walking piece of shit I am right now.
As such, I am going to become like Mr Burns, inventing the Spruce Goose and blah de blah. You get the point. I’m finding it hard to concentrate right now.
I have a confession to make, and it’s not one I’m particularly proud of. See, I have an addiction. I’ve been keeping it at bay over the last few weeks to the best of my ability, but I often find myself unable to control urges. You must understand that it’s a diseeeeease. As such, I can only ask for your sympathy in this, my most troubling of times.
I will admit that I am lucky my addiction has not taken me down the route of alcohol – destructive to the mindtank as that is. As for drugs? Well I only use heroin once a week, recreationally, so there’s no issue there*. Gambling? All under control, as well we know. But that’s not to say my addiction is anything less on the grand scale – it dominates my mind, and while I can’t claim it actually inconveniences me in any way whatsoever, it does irk me somewhat.
I managed for a few months, actually, to stay away from it. I tried alternatives and they kept me going, but just like methadone they’re never as good as the real thing. But I kept at it and I had a minor breakthrough in that I’d almost forgotten about my once-insatiable desires.
So my brain said to me “well you’re over it now. Why not have a celebratory… you know?” And you know what I did, dear audience? I listened to my brain for the first time in 27 years. And now? Now the addiction is back. And it won’t go away.
I just can’t stop quaffing D&G Old Jamaica Ginger Beer. Seriously – I’m onto one, maybe two cans a day. It’s liquid crack. I need help. Or more cans, as I only have four left for the weekend. Care packages willingly accepted.
*Always admit where you stole a joke from. Here.