Liver, I am disappoint.

Seriously, I think that in turning 30 my body decided that we're done with alcohol. Two beers has me very toasty. Three beers, as I discovered Friday night, has me near-blackout drunk and hungover much of the next day. Seriously, what the hell? Two weeks ago, I handled three beers no problem. Last Friday night, at my 30th birthday party, I had 3 beers, ended up hiccupping most of the night and sort of hungover in the morning. Last night, 3 beers and BOOM. Liver, I am disappoint.

As an aftereffect of getting accidentally way more drunk than I meant to on Friday, Brownie and I had a talk yesterday about me/drinking. Getting drunk like I did was absolutely nothing I wanted to do on Friday night. I meant to just go out, have a couple of beers with Brownie, and then we were going to make fish and chips and watch the Olympics and have copious amounts of sexx0rs. This sounded like a fantastic idea. Anyway, so this all ended up not having because the beer made me way drunker than I would have guessed it would, and Brownie has taken from this the idea that I'm not being careful enough about drinking and that this lack of care is a) self-destructive and b) a sign of how stressed and unhappy I've been. His solution is that I should go talk to someone about it. I generally figure I should talk to someone anyway, but I don't know that I see the hangover yesterday as symptomatic of anything other than I need to institute new limits for myself, since the old limits apparently lead me to being non-functional. Non-functional after drinking was barely acceptable in college. At this point it's beyond unacceptable. And I really hate that pretty much all I did yesterday was stare in rapt horror at CNN while waiting to see what the tsunami would do to Hawaii.

Anyway, so I will go talk to someone in the therapy sense of things, because if nothing else my attempts at dealing with myself and exercising my way out of depression have done nothing whatsoever and I'd be glad to get a bit more help. Preferably of the non-drug kind, since my last encounter with antidepressants lead to an extreme and total loss of my sex drive. Now that Brownie's finally getting his back in the post-dissertation era of his life, I don't want to lose mine to some drug that locks it up in a straightjacket somewhere in the back of my mind.