When Enough Is Not Enough

Carpe Diem. Mañana.

Starting in fourth grade, I would stay up way too late reading books too mature for me.  I remember finishing ‘The Color Purple’ at 3:30 in the morning, then nodding off at my little desk in class.  I sat towards the front and it was hard to hide my half closed eyes, but I was hooked.  They brought in a new teacher to go through more advanced books with me, because by fifth grade, I was bored and no longer participated in class discussions.

At home, I would sneak my mom’s novels and my dad’s real life detective stories up to my room.  Put them all together and you would have enough material for an entire season of Law & Order: SVU.

My guilty pleasures; Dean Koontz, FBI Unsolved Cases, Anne Rice, Stephen King, Danielle Steele.  I hated that moment in class when your head would fall off your hand and you were jerked back into consciousness by the freakish sensation of falling from a skyscraper 10 miles tall, but I still got the answers right.

Now instead of reading works from renowned authors, I am up late drinking creations from renowned distilleries and vineyards.  Time for a sanity check, this last night was a doozy and I am beginning to miss my “know it all” brain cells.  The fuzzy delayed responses to questions too nauseating to navigate are no longer entertaining.

You rationalize to yourself that you have alcoholism running in your veins and you have lost loved ones to complications of such.  That should be enough to Carpe the hell out of any Diem right!?!

I’ll start tomorrow.

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