It was the best of sobriety; it was the worst of sobriety. I’ve officially made it a week. To be honest, I wasn’t sure it was going to happen. This is harder than I remember. Day 3 is always the worst (obviously, read the last post). Day 7 though is when the physical addictions have quieted down to a murmur and the habitual addictions come screaming to the surface. Today I was on the A&M campus doing some recruiting for about 2 hours. I rode down and back to be there for 2 hours. Lame, I know. But just walking across campus made me want a cigarette so much that the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I resisted, though, don’t worry. I am still participating in Febrehabruarii, as is Mr. Brett Sabulous. I guess everyone else is out … since you can’t start after the Super Bull.

Really this past week has been nothing short of a roller coaster for me. Some days I just feel fucking amazing and the next I’m really, really low. I’ve had a lot of fucking fun, and I’ve missed out on a lot. I’m not all that pleasant to be around … sometimes … and you never know when that time is. I’ve given up so much that sometimes it’s hard to remember all the things I’m not doing. What I am doing, though, is working out like a mofo. To date, I’ve lost 7 pounds. That’s a pound a day, retards. I should write a book.

So, I was on a high earlier, now I’m on a low. Give me five minutes or another triple shot venti cappuchino and I might be on a high again. Until then, go fuck yourself.