To be honest, that Tiger Malt Beverage was more hazardous than a Goon could ever be.

If I could have anything right now it’d be a longer tongue. I’m trying my hardest to clear this bowl of banana and peanut butter, but my tongue is less anteater, more turtle. I’m no dog, because otherwise this’d be sorted tidily. One of the many times I despair at my lack of caninity. I wonder if there’s ever been a biblical animated dog called Canine Abel. Google says no. Finally I’ve found my gap in the market. I never thought religious cartoon programming would be my calling, but the world certainly needs a prophet called Meowses who parts a sea of milk to escape the evil Sparroah. It practically writes itself. Unlike whatever is going on right here. I’ve been lucky to avoid anything resembling this mythical writers block thing, but it’s likely because I have the luxury of being able to use writer’s block as a topic to circumvent itself. Neat. Both in the 80s “neato” sense, and with a tidy air.

I did manage to leave the house last night and get out to that party. I got back just after 7 this morning. Australia day was as grand as you’d imagine, a bloody mess of the highest order. The table was full of delectable Aussie treats; slices of toast with vegemite, a tray of “snarlers” with white bread and fried onions (also careful instructions to place the sausage diagonally on the bread, violation of which would be extreme taboo) and Tim Tams. Before I left I spent literally 20 minutes sitting immobile in my room, looking at the alcohol on my dresser and deciding whether or not to drink. Thought patterns revolved around circles such as these:

If I do, I’ll be betraying my own decree not to drink until I have full time work. On the other hand the choice to cut it out was an arbitrary decision made to cut down on spending precious cash and calories on it. This alcohol already exists in my life, I’m not purchasing anything I haven’t bought already. Still, I’ll be cheapening a decision I made. Think of Future Leon and how he’d feel if you gave up on him. Yeah, but Future Leon might be elated to have had such a good time. Still, part of him would be racked with guilt at having failed his own proclamation. But tired as you are, you’ll be a poor party guest. Alcohol would fix that. So am I saying that without alcohol I’m incapable of reasonable interaction? No, not at all, it might just be helpful this time. But I said I wouldn’t. Look, you’re accountable to nobody but yourself on this, right? Right, so if I fail it, I’ve failed myself. I can’t just keep making small caveats to the rule, otherwise the rule has no point. Yes, that’s true, but if you’re doing this so you can enjoy yourself more, then you’re doing yourself a service. What happens if you meet people and really hit it off with them? You could make heaps of friends who you might, sans booze, feel disinclined to talk to. Right, because I’m so tired…

So I decided not to drink. My integrity was worth more than that. I went to the supermarket and picked up absurd non-alcoholic drinks. Some malt beverage and a bottle of creaming soda. If I wasn’t gonna get “turnt” I could at least drink bizarre things. And creaming soda. So just to clarify, the bizarre things were that one bottle of Tiger Malt Beverage. After drinking it, it was strange enough to be pluralised. My non-drinking thing went ok, I met people and had middling polite conversations, but my sleep deprivation was depriving me of interactive capabilities. So as soon as the gaffer-taped, jerry-rigged Goon of Fortune (it was almost precisely like this, but with more background howls of “STREEEEWTH” and “STRAYA CUNT”) landed on me, I felt obliged to suck on that nozzle like the nipple that raised me. This happened a few times and I quickly ascended to the necessary state of holiday spirit.

So where am I with this whole not drinking thing? I’m not sure. I had an exceptionally great time and regret nothing about my decision. I’m not sure how it plays out from here. Quitting my decision not to drink right now just because of one indiscretion would be about as stupid as wasting too much time beating myself up over it. I’ve got a feeling that I might have another part time job coming up soon that’d provide me with beer money. Then again, that in itself gives me the choice of what I’d rather have in my life between alcohol or a gym membership. One is the right choice for my body, the other might be the right choice for my mental state. Or not. Drinking shouldn’t be a moral issue either way, but nobody needs to worry about it but me.

Also it’s Waitangi Day on Thursday. I think celebrating the union of our national cultures is worth sinking a whiskey or two.

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