|Done bein' the grownup
||[May. 15th, 2005|12:22 am]
I was such a good girl today. I got up this morning and studied for a solid 6 hours, worked out for 45 minutes, and only ate the right things.
Then evening came. And "Deadwood," which Ferrett just picked up at Best Buy.
I have a confession to make: I have a terrible weakness for good Westerns. And Deadwood definitely qualifies.
Well. If we were going to watch Deadwood, it only seemed right to drink whiskey. And the only whiskey in the house was actually some very expensive Lagevulin scotch. 3/4th of a bottle. Which Ferrett and I polished off.
I've reached that horribly confessional, chatty part of being drunk. The part where you stagger up to your friends and tell them what wonderful people they are and how you really love them and, boy you could sure use another drink.
There is wine in the house, and slivovitz. But fortunately I am way too smart to have at them. Which is pretty impressive, considering.
I should be in bed. We are having lunch with friends tomorow, and I have one last day of studying, one final sprint for the finish line, that I need to get through. Last final of the semester is Monday night. A rational mind would stop now and get some frickin' sleep.
Lemme just say, I feel pretty damned good about the way I've gotten through studying for finals. There was no succumbing to the desire to eat tons of salty chips and such, no giant bowls of popcorn. They called to me, but I resisted. And as a result, I'm finishing up finals without a weight gain. Bully on me.
Problem now is, I want to fire up Diablo and kill shit for a few hours. I need to hang onto responsibility and concentration one more weekend than I really have in me.
Why is the rum gone?