Shock horror. Breaking news!
I recently drank alcohol. Dum, dum dummmmm.
A friend of mine accidentally poured a big shot of Jack Daniels down my throat. I know that seems unlikely, and it is a long story, but it was part of a play I do every year for charity. Honestly, I thought my days of blaming the theatre for the stupid things I’d done were behind me, but it appears to have happened again.
Anyway, I mention it because there are people out there who believe that a slug of bourbon should have led to a maniacal binge.
I felt the effects. They were not pleasant. I had a mild headache, and I felt a bit ill, but nothing major. I didn’t drink any more alcohol because I have absolutely no desire to drink alcohol.
There’s the irony, the only time it’s good to drink alcohol, is when you don’t want to drink it.
Which I guess proves the old adage of existential theology: without desire, there is no temptation.