...a mixture of maladies...

there's this familiar (and, oh so welcome) sense of dismemberment that comes with the booze.
I know, there are plenty of more holistic alternatives to this debacle. I choose to avoid those options at most costs. but, considering most of those "costs", come with natural acquiesce to positive brain-frame (which, for the most part, am incapable of ), i am three sheets to the wind in the most opposite direction.
rye...grain...these are things on the natural schematic... yes?
i have a problem... yes?
do you have a problem?
...i made up this whole brain dream ,where i thought for just a moment that i was the drink. flowing so wonderfully into my callous throat. dipping and diving through the whole thing, like some spelunking cave master. the rigid in-skirts, and strange blackish green obstacles inside my innards... to weave and twist throughout. wandering through the flesh tubes like some liquid snake. making an excremental exit into the den of where my head typically sinks so low.
i give up.
things are apparently much more serious than i am willing to acknowledge.