Impulse control: zero, and falling…
1. I just said, “What do they expect me to do, pull it out of my butt?” to my boss about some statistics Sales asked me for.
2. Two nights ago I injected fried calamari and two shrimp tacos into my piehole and washed it down with 3 glasses of Sangiovese. All within two hours. (I didn’t have to drive. I just nattered some poor innocent BART rider’s head off for 25 minutes.)
3. I just toggled this screen up in front of my boss, who eagerly read the title and will certainly run a web report on it.
4. I can’t seem to stop buying books. I suppose that will end once I lose my income.
GOOD GOD. I am OUT OF CONTROL. Thank god, I do not seem to have enough street smarts to connect with pushers on the street, and nurse a distinct aversion to needles and smoking. Else, I would be writing a chick-lit version of Trainspotting morphed with Naked Lunch. “The Devil Snorts Smack.”