After going seven days without drinking I drank Friday. I had only a few drinks, though, instead of a whole bottle, so that's something. Sleep saved me. I think it was eight when I fell tiredly into bed. Sleep sleep sleep. That's been my week. But working out, too--four times. It's been great, getting my heart rate up again.
In recent weeks I've felt like Steve Martin channeling Lily Tomlin in All of Me: two distinct people trapped in one body, pulling it in different directions. Conflicting impulses.
You know how you want to say stuff but you just can't work up the effort to do so? I finally saw last Wednesday's Alias and it was great. I rewatched to the end of Ultraviolet with sherrold yesterday and it was great. But what do I need to say about any of that? Nothing, really. Marshall = absolutely awesome. Jack Davenport = pretty and angsty.
And in conclusion, chocolate-covered pretzels are crack.