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You: You look like shit, bro. Have you been celebrating the fall of Trump? I know you hate the piece of shit. I read in one of your articles that you were lamenting about turning 70. You keep abusing yourself with alcohol and you're going to look 70. For someone who is complaining about his expanding gut, you're not doing much to avoid making that reality becoming more real.

Me: I know. You don't have to tell me. I've made a half-hearted attempt to walk more, to play more tennis and to be more consistent with my Yankee Yoga, but it seems like I'm getting drunk every other day. I'm growing frustrated with myself; I'm not ready to throw in the towel. Maybe I'm on a bender to convince myself that I'm no different than when I was in my early twenties and I could drink all night and work the next day.

You: I believe in the spirituality of alcohol, but like Sunday mass, I limit my stumbling and falling to my knees once a week. I can't handle the hangovers. With time more precious that ever, I feel I'm wasting the little time I have spending a day, sometimes two days, clearing my head. When I avoid the bars for two or three days in a row, I feel vibrant, healthy. Besides, COVID is claiming the careless.

Me: Don't think for a second that your words are going in one ear and out the other. You find yourself in a self-destructive cycle and you don't have the will or the discipline to escape your own torment. I keep saying to myself I'm going to pull in the reins, but a morning or two later I am stretched out in bed nursing another hangover.

You: Are you unhappy about finishing second to dogs? Are you punishing yourself? Do you have too much time and you're trying to fill the boredom? You're by nature an active person. Do you feel guilty about your lack of activity? There comes a time when you have to get your shit together or you will turn into a piece of shit. 

Me: I'm well aware of the repercussions of my excesses and I shake my head in disgust when hangovers render me useless, but believe it or not, there is a positive side to a hangover.

You: That's a first. Enlighten me.

Me: I don't suffer from headaches or upset stomachs. Two Excedrin eliminate headaches and Xanax calms my nerves. As you have mentioned, we live in world in which we have to be accomplishing something. We're on this quest for self-improvement. You finish exercising and you have to write. You finish playing the guitar and you have to learn a language. You finish surfing the net to catch up on the latest news and you have to read. Then there's the kids, the bills, the daily chores and a number of other errands that have to be resolved. It's non-stop.

You: That's reality. If you want to achieve any goals, you have to move. You can't be a couch potato contemplating your navel. We are all committed to being somebody. We have pride. We want to be distinct and respected. In order to achieve that image, you have to have grind day-after-day. 

Me: I'm not disagreeing with you, but in this process we oftentimes lose the ability to relax. Hangovers are an exercise in relaxation. After a night of overindulging, I have zero energy. I don't want to get out of bed. When I do, I fix myself something to eat, check the internet, select some music and hit the sack again for a three or four hour nap. I might awake for a few minutes. I'll grab a book on my night stand and read before falling back to sleep. I will remain in this state until I rise, prepare dinner and maybe go for a late evening walk.

You: I know the feeling. I haven't abandoned my love for alcohol and I don't think I ever will. There are occasions that demand drinking. I'm not going to sit around with buddies and drink milk. Plus, it's difficult to trust a man who doesn't drink. I'm willing to pay the price the next day, but I'm not willing to go bankrupt paying the price two and three times a week. It isn't worth the investment.

Me: You're right, but since I'm retired with no responsibilities except to dish out money to loved ones, I don't rise from my bed until I'm steady on my feet and not cloudy in my head. I rest my head on my pillow and I don't worry about anything. Guilt stirs me to action, but when I'm in the throes of an empty mind, I don't think about anything. I'm arguably in my most peaceful state.

You: Are you going to tell me that not even Trump disturbs your dreams?

Me: Hangovers liberate me from that living nightmare. 

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