in the fullness of time.

Day -95 | 1 or 2 Beers | Starving To Lose | The Commute to the Center of the Universe Is Doing the Trick

What happened to my excruciatingly sweet and satisfying cocktail hour?

My world has been tipped upside down.

And it ain’t exactly lucrative.

I’m clearing $64 a day; the commute back and forth is nearly three hours.

Why did I take on a job in Cambridge, my family asks.

It’s simple.

Exercise, occupation and fatigue [but I don’t tell them that].

The MBTA should have a sign posted on its front end that reads, ALWAYS LATE.

It’s a 1.8 mile walk to the commuter rail and at least a 1/3 of a mile to work from the Red Line at Kendall (in close proximity to where Sean Collier, the MIT police officer, was shot by Tamerlan Tsarnaev after the Boston Marathon Bombings).

Multiply the walking distance by 2.

Then multiply it by 5.

There’s that number 20 again.

Occupation: I’m away from the house for twelve hours. Downtime in relation to my cocktail hour is squeezed down to a sliver.

That magnificent massively anticipated thing of beauty, respite, taste, numbness.

I sabotaged it on purpose.

Figured commuting into the Center of the Universe would curb my booze intake. I could stick with the schedule while the weather’s nice; maybe even until late Fall. The position I’m working is contract and/or temp-to-hire.

Uphold responsibility.

Drink water.

Breathe.

Lose some significant poundage.

Think sunny thoughts.

Working this job will be lucrative.

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