My love for Beer, its consequences

I feel like a raped car-wreck. Bloodshot eyes, a rebelling tummy and the inwardness of thought should all lead to the conclusion that I’m in a terrible hangover.

Which I am.

Last night’s "I drink, therefore I am" morale seems hard to accept in this ungodly aftermath in which I partake. I feel like a pawn on a chessboard of laughing heads. My actions not my own. Luckily, there is little work to do today, but my self-sustained headache does its worst to make sure I’m not content. Ah! What price to pay! But did I enjoy last night? Yes, I did. Did I not drink water instead of pouring down a last beer before leaving? Yes, I did. … I was going to add one more sentence in that manner, but my minds lack of cooperation stopped me.

..which brings me to another matter. Me and "my team" have never been into this quiz-night for other reasons than literature and cheap beer. Instead of 50NOK a pint, it’s 36. Still, last night we were told that we might find ourselves in a national convention of beer lovers, because we’re among the top 8 teams. Geez! We thought exactly of the golden egg; free beer (yes; free beer), but not the following expenses and drags. Like; houndreds of fat, middle-aged, semi-homosexual men thundering their love for beer all around, trying to make everyone join in in a sing-along about beer. I fucking hate sing-along songs. I’ve had nightmares about it. So I will probably turn it down. I will probably turn free beer down.

That must mean something. For any external observer it should mean I’m an independent adult capable of making wise decisions. The state I’m in today should counter this argument. What wise decision? No, to me it means my Love of Beer is receeding. What I might consider tomorrow, however, is another matter. Tomorrow I won’t find myself in this state. Oh, how I yearn for tomorrow! Then there’s the party on Saturday. Oh, how I dread for Sunday!…

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