It was the best of sobriety; it was the worst of sobriety. I've officially made it a week. To be honest, I wasn't sure it was going to happen. This is harder than I remember. Day 3 is always the worst (obviously, read the last post). Day 7 though is when the physical addictions have quieted down to a murmur and the habitual addictions come screaming to the surface. Today I was on the A&M campus doing some recruiting for about 2 hours. I rode down and back to be there for 2 hours. Lame, I know. But just walking across campus made me want a cigarette so much that the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I resisted, though, don't worry. I am still participating in Febrehabruarii, as is Mr. Brett Sabulous. I guess everyone else is out ... since you can't start after the Super Bull.

Really this past week has been nothing short of a roller coaster for me. Some days I just feel fucking amazing and the next I'm really, really low. I've had a lot of fucking fun, and I've missed out on a lot. I'm not all that pleasant to be around ... sometimes ... and you never know when that time is. I've given up so much that sometimes it's hard to remember all the things I'm not doing. What I am doing, though, is working out like a mofo. To date, I've lost 7 pounds. That's a pound a day, retards. I should write a book.

So, I was on a high earlier, now I'm on a low. Give me five minutes or another triple shot venti cappuchino and I might be on a high again. Until then, go fuck yourself.