Here we go again

Late last year I made a controlled power down of my average weekly alcohol consumption, I limited myself to weekend-only imbibement. Unfortunately, along came Christmas, then new years... weekend-only turned into "every damn day cuz I'm on vacation". I managed to maintain that flow (ha, pun intended) for almost a month... never really getting back to my earlier level of restraint, if you could call it that. Now it’s time to cut back again, and it pains me.
I genuinely like the taste of beer, its good stuff. I enjoy sampling different imported beers whenever the liquor store stocks something new. I’m not 17 anymore; I don’t set aside a portion of my pizza delivering tips for large quantities of the cheap crappy stuff, like “Olde English 40s”. I’m not just out to get falling down drunk at the upcoming Cherryville bush party.
The main reason for my need to cut back again is cost… having a few beer a night, plus a few extras on weekends, is roughly equivalent to the cost of a pack-a-day smoking habit. (Something I was lucky enough to break before the price went from 5 to 8 dollars a pack).
The second reason is Christine, she’s tired of seeing me sitting on my ass day after day while the empties accumulate on the kitchen counter… and I don’t blame her one bit. If she was a smoker I know I‘d be on her case, probably even more so. Instead she manages to balance the equation by lobbing the occasional estrogen-laden nag bomb at me.
If I wanted to be financially smart about this, I’d switch from beer to weed. I’m a pretty cheap stone, half a bowl and I’m done. 10 bucks worth lasts six months in my house… but it’s just not the same. Never have I concluded a big Sunday meal by retiring to the couch for an after-dinner reefer. But I can sit in front of my computer playing games, drink a few beers, get pleasantly relaxed, and be happy. Weed just makes me paranoid, giddy and hungry. Hence the only time I smoke it is on the odd weekend when I’ve already had a few.
Anyways, nuff said. Wish me luck now…. 62 hours dry and counting…. pushin along to mile marker 140. The little engine that could. “I think I can, I think I can.”