On the advice of my liver

My liver has asked that I take a respite from alcohol.
And because I am very close to my liver, I have agreed.
It’s not like I’m abusing liquor, mind you. I’m not knocking back a fifth of bourbon or vodka every night – alone, huddled on the couch with a highball in my hand, drowning my sorrows.
I’m not drowning my morning Rice Crispies with beer, either. No Jello shots for lunch, no flask in my jacket pocket.
I’ve just been out-and-about lately. A lot.
Where there is drinking.
Case in point: Sunday’s Oscar party. The ticket got you a free glass of Champagne. I then had two drinks past that.
Saturday night, there was a party for the Shasta Land Trust, where a buddy bought me a two beers.
Add a couple of dinner invites with wine and a few get-togethers with buddies after work to grab a brew, and you see the pattern.
Not a lot of time off for this hard-working organ.
Even when the drinking is in total moderation.
My 44th birthday is March 20.
I’m on the wagon until then.
When I will raise a glass of ale, and toast to good health, good friends and good times.
And a clean liver.

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