Lately, I've been falling down on my self-professed wish to be much healthier than I was during the last semester of college. Better food and less alcohol was the goal, and I was doing pretty well for a while, before falling backwards a little bit since moving to LA.
So, to get back on track, yesterday I got myself a (delicious) kale salad with fake chicken breast for lunch and all morning long resisted the Dr. Pepper that's been haunting me. But sometime, during the afternoon, my will broke, and I drank two cans of Sprite. Then went and got pork belly and a glass of Malbec for dinner. Then went to bed on a cocktail of whiskey-and-apple-cider and a Vicodin (disclaimer: I'm actually prescribed this as a result of fucking up my face recently, so this was not recreational drug use in the strictest sense, and it certainly wasn't illegal.)
I fell asleep singing "Werewolves of London" to myself and felt great, but this morning I felt a little guilty about the whole thing.
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