I find it amusing that the closest I've come to what might be considered abusing myself as of late has been the drinking of Coca-Cola from a glass bottle late in the afternoon and the consumption of a can of generic raviolis in which, the nutritional information stated there was three-hundred ninety grams of sodium per serving. This might not seem like abuse, persey, and I admit that. There might even be those who would think such an analogy borders upon demented and sad.
Allow me to explain; firstly, it has been a very long time since I could be honest in saying my vices are caffeine and nicotine. Like a few years. More like tea and curry, or wine and African fare, or water and mixed nuts. Seriously.
Gone are the days when I could consume a pot of coffee and then go straight to bed like nothing happened, save the consumption of liquid, which might result in a trip to the water closet. I might have some coffee in the mourning, but that's about it for caffeine, at least in such a concentrated dose. It is said the caffeine in tea is metabolized differently, and therefore, does not have quite the same effect. Basically, if I have coffee or soda late in the afternoon I find myself wide awake into the small hours between late night and early mourning.
Rare as hen's teeth is when we use salt in something we eat. We just don't and it's not as though our diet suffers because of it. Over at the cantina, on steak night, the staff knows Sabina and I want our steaks without salt. This is just understood. And those steaks are just as succulent and enjoyable.
So, I spent a night not being able to sleep until late and drinking a little more water than usual. I awoke with a little bit of a headache. A moment of indulgence and bad timing. So it goes.
I find the amusement in the fact that there was a time when saying I was abusing myself involved over-indulgences in the drink and sleeplessness. Perhaps smoking more than a pack and half in a day. And somehow, that was okay. It was all in the name of a good time. Perhaps having an adventure. Chasing a snake's tail down a rabbit hole to collect a story or two.
Perhaps I am getting old, but I cannot see myself doing such a thing anymore. It's been over a year since I've purchased a pack of smokes and getting drunk invites wild mood swings I'd rather not deal with. Going to juke joints, I find, is far too mentally exhausting. Even going to the cantina more than once every-so-often seems to be a bit of an effort, both from the standpoint of paradoxical misanthropy and dealing with drunken snowbums and regulars who would love nothing more than to hug and talk your ear off.
Just as I cannot see drinking caffeine late in the day or eating something pre-processed, given the salt content. The price to pay, whilst not as high as liver sprain and smoker's cough, are certainly no less annoying. Perhaps a little more amusing, in that way that only makes sense to me, but still annoying.