Houston, we have a problem

2:30am. I just woke up - sitting on the couch, fully clothed, TV off, all lights on. The last thing I remember is leaving the bar a little before midnight.

So I change clothes and prepare for bed. But I actually feel pretty good and return to the living room and crack a beer. There is really no doubt in my mind now that I do have a drinking problem. However, at this moment, I really don't care.

I am watching an episode of 'Knight Rider.' (what else would one do at 3:12am) It's the one where Michael Knight battles his evil half brother Garth who is an exact twin except he has a goatee (true sign of evil) and, for no reason, carries a cane. He also talks a lot slower and over annunciates every word. Garth has built an evil super-vehicle to battle K.I.T.T. It's a semi-truck, with trailer. What the fuck? What's with the trailer?

So back to my drinking problem. Yesterday, around 1:30am, I'm drinking screwdrivers. At this point, I'm barely able to walk - bouncing off walls as I go. I manage my way to the kitchen to make another drink. Yank open the refrigerator door. A carton of eggs falls to the floor. The next few minutes are spent staring at the mess. The next 20 minutes is spent cleaning it up - not an easy task, given my condition.



Well, enough rambling. Time to have another beer.