Bound-and-Hagged

It's Saturday night and all I wanna do is sleep. Dating an alcoholic RUINED me. Not like, emotionally (I gots hella mad bouncing back skills yo) (kinda. You just gotta give it six months plus and THEN my mad bouncing back skillz kick in) but man, all I had was three glasses of red wine last night and I'm DEAD today. Yoga was the hardest sixty minutes OF MY LIFE. My body felt leaden down with... well, lead (or something). It was like dragging round a sack of potatoes, but a sack of potatoes strapped to my legs and arms and chest. Like I was wearing a sack of potatoes if you will. Sartorial elegance personified basically. Time was when three quarters of a bottle of wine was breakfast (it was never really breakfast, breakfast is/was normally porridge or rice krispies. I just wanted you to think I was cool. Porridge/Rice Krispies never really exudes cool the way a reckless drinking habit does). Just over a year ago I couldn't fathom those among our ranks who could open a bottle of wine, enjoy ONE glass and then cork bottle of wine and continue with their enjoyable evening of cross stitch and Colin Firth movies. NOW I AM THAT BITCH! (In that I watched half of an Accidental Husband today because I couldn't find the energy to clean which I had alloted for my afternoon activities. It was not very good. It was not very good enough in such a way that I actually ended up cleaning rather than watching it). Not really drinking for the better part of a year has ruined me. And also makes me feel a lot better about myself in other ways and means I get a healthy amount of sleep rather than too much or too little and that means I have the energy to cross stitch (or [insert activity worthy of my time here]) whenever I like. How lame is that shit? Bound and hagged man. Bound and hagged.