So, yeah, I have cravings, not for alcohol, per se, but for the effect of alcohol. Then I think about the next day, and how horrible that would be. Then I start to feel sorry for myself that I've been cursed with this overwhelming disease that won't even allow me to have half a beer on a hot day.
Then I see on my television set this dude running around the track with no legs.
Then I think to myself that my cross just isn't that heavy, as long as I continue to believe in myself and that ice cream is a food group.