Fuck it. I'm having a drink. This may be foolish, but here I am. It's midnight. In theory I can drink on Monday evening. Midnight on Sunday is only a little away from that.
It's a Sunday. I could have done anything with my evening, but I just don't want to go out. I spend an hour watching Frasier, and all I can think of is "there's half a bottle of wine in the fridge."
So, I have a glass of wine. I don't vomit. I have another little glass of wine. I feel fabulous. And very drunk. I go to bed in my giant new room, its shelves full of lego. And I smile.
The next day, of course, I wake up hungover. And happy.
(PS: Obviously, giving up booze for a week also means I've lost a whole kilo. That I wasn't actually sure I needed to lose. But hey.)