Off the Wagon

Holidays are great; you treat yourself, you relax, you have fun. All dietary inhibitions go out the window and you indulge. Unfortunately, some of us are on a Twelve Week Challenge and there is no allowance for Holidays. Regardless of this, last night I went out, and I drank ALCOHOL.

That's right folks, my brain has returned to a place of intoxication, and the slight hangover that I'm now sporting feels wholly familiar, and quite pleasant. Also, the need for food of a non-healthy nature is slowly but surely creeping up on me, and the chocolate biscuits that mysteriously made their way into my kitchen are looking ever so appealing. I feel that today, ANZAC Day, (a public holiday for those of you who live in the UK and/or have their head in the sand), I have fallen off the wagon.

The question is now, how far off the wagon will I continue to fall? Will I find myself lying in a crumpled heap under the wheels of the wagon? Or will I fall so far that the wagon is a small dot on the horizon from my landing point on the road of destruction and dismay? I've never been a person to do things by halves, so I feel that I should attempt, at least, to clear the wagon completely. There'll be no hanging on here, no dragging alongside the wagon, no clinging onto the wagon in a desperate attempt to appear to have not fallen off at all. Oh no - I'm off it, and I'm off it until at least tomorrow.

This is brilliant - the alcohol has brought my ability to babble endlessly back to the surface. I feel like I could go on for hours... days in fact! But unfortunately I have just been reminded that I should 'switch to a power outlet' in the next 17 minutes or I'll lose my work. Fuck it. I can't be arsed. I'm going for the choccie biscuits...