Further ways in which I seem to have decided to kill myself...

This week I have been dealing with a lot of stressed phone calls from other people.  Stressed artists who are working on a project looking to me to find out why a multibillion dollar client seems to have trouble paying us for the work we are doing.  Stressful calls from the clients, apologizing for their backers being slow to pay and can our team please keep working even though we haven't been paid. Calls from other clients saying that the site I just built for him "is down" (he needed to refresh his browser).

Stress, like rust, never sleeps.

I could add a plethora of other things to the mix, car troubles and the like, but we all have those.  They are all just logs in the Jenga stack of everyday life, the stack we add to everyday flinching away from it as we remove our hand for fear of the oncoming clatter of collapse.

This week I have the added stress of the memorial service for my lost friend/brother Jeff.  It;s tomorrow and I have not written a thing yet to say about the best friend I ever had and how his sudden absence has left a huge gap in my life. I will write something, and I have to lay our a sheet for his service as well  but I have been putting it off.  Putting it off in the same way that I have been putting off accepting that he has gone.  It is no wonder that I have started having a drink now and again...or everyday.

Let me say flat out that I should not be drinking, that drinking was one of the cheif causes of my heart problems.

Let me rephrase that

ALCOHOL WAS THE CHIEF THING THAT HAS IN THE PAST ATTEMPTED TO KILL MY HEART AND IS STILL TRYING TO EVERY TIME I PUT IT INTO MY BODY.

So why is it then that I go out most nights to the liquor store and pick up a crappy canned Club Martini, which I then take back to my room, pour over ice and pretend I am John Steed while I choke down it's vile flavor?  Well it could be attributed to genetics, it could be attributed to the stress of my everyday life, it could be written off at a lifetime of conditioning that tells me it is both acceptable and cool to do...

Wait, stop right there.  As a close friend told me yesterday, those are just excuses.  Drunks make excuses, it's how they stay drunks.  The trouble is though excuses like these can kill me, they should be registered more carefully then assault weapons (not difficult)