What's your flavor?

I think rum is the best tasting alcoholic beverage on the planet. If you challenge me ... I SAY THEE NAY!!!

I have developed, over the past few months, a very distinct pattern of behavior. I will cringe and moan and gnash my remaining solvent teeth and gripe about work ... and then I'll come home and drink. Copiously. Anyone who knows me can attest to my love of all things rum.

I am growing scared.
Am I simply repeating/replicating the pattern with with I grew up? Wasn't Dad "three sheets to the wind" by the time he arrived home each night from the factory? What is wrong with me? I swore I wouldn't become my father. I took oaths.

Then, reaching adulthood and realizing the searing humanity displayed by my kick-ass Dad throughout amazingly turbulent times, I decided being like Dad wasn't so fucking bad.

The drinking, however ... not the smartest choice.
I fear I am becoming powerless. I fear my actions should I not end each night with a lil nip.

If nothing else, I am resilient. This, too, shall pass.

Bring on the hooch, muthafuckas!!!