I'm out

I suppose it has been a while. I wish that I had a good, interesting and valid excuse, but I really don't. My excuse is embarrassing and shameful. I think I might have ended up on the always entertaining show COPS over the weekend. Good times. Though I really don't want to regale you with the horrendous details of my Saturday night bacchanalia, I do feel the need to repent. Since my skin burns and people hiss at me when I try to attend church, I will instead repent here. Here is my prayer. I shall title this "Ode to an Overworked Liver".
Oh liver, how I love thee, and yet punish thee cruelly and unnecessarily. Quick shout out to stomach too, for the things I made you digest between 8pm and 1am on Saturday night. Liver, I am sorry to make you quaff such an extraordinary amount of (predominately) Okanagan VQA wine. I apologize for also making you have a Heineken at the Royal downtown. Oh brain, can you please fill in the gaping void that would explain what prompted me to hang out with a bunch of nineteen year olds at the Royal in the first place? Feet, beloved, calloused feet. I do blame you for taking me to Sip, after stomach and brain rebelled at the incessant loud and crappy music at the Royal, when instead you should have walked my sorry ass over to a cab. Oh body of mine, great betrayer and purveyor of dry heaves on Sunday.
And that is the "Ode to an Overworked Liver". To refer back to the title: I'm out. No more partying. I'm pushing thirty, it's too expensive, it takes too long to recover, it's not fun, and I shudder to think what anyone that had the misfortune of bumping into me (though more likely I stumbled into them) on that woeful evening thought of my character. There are an inordinate amount of things that I would rather spend my time and money on, and I shall start to explore these things in the Saturday nights to come.