This weekend, you closed your curtains, locked your doors, turned off the lights, and ate presweetened morning breakfast cereal, with little marshmallows! You spent $7.

I’ve been living simply. It’s time to live... larger, but that’s a conversation for another time.

Anyway, I’m living near my girl, in a shitbox studio, with only furniture and dishes and such that I didn’t pay for. An easier exit for when it’s time to depart. There is always an approaching departure time.

What’s that old axiom? Oh yeah, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

I would not have chosen the dinnerware I’m using. They’re black. Rather boring. And HUGE!

The bowl, for example, seems to hold twice the amount of cereal as my previous bowls. Now, I really shouldn’t be eating cereal anyway—processed poison and all that—but frankly, I really don’t care at this moment. I’m immortal. Why would I?

After yesterday, I can tell you that the bowls are large enough to finish a box of cereal in five bowls.

Now, ask how lousy I feel after consuming an entire box of cereal in one day...

I have been educating myself on addiction lately. What constitutes an addiction to, for instance, alcohol?

And I have come up with this formula: If I leave a full (or partial) bottle of whiskey (tequila, vodka) at your apartment, will it be waiting for me when I return?

I’ve learned that in many cases, this answer is no. A reasonable pre-qualifier for that next “less dramatic” girlfriend? Sure.

And, applying this algorithm, I have a “healthy relationship” with alcohol.

Cereal, on the other hand... fuck.