|Nick Butcher, yesterday|
Nick Butcher - a future billionaire playboy philanthropist whose death in the year 2057 will be mourned by billions and the remains of whose corpse will be encased in solid gold - recently said he'd donate 3 pounds for every 'non-trivial' blog I wrote about Dryathlon. Asked what 'non-trivial' meant, he said: "Anything personal, meaningful, hilarious, inspiring, touching, and - most importantly - that I feel like springing 3 quid for."
Cancer research needs that three pounds. So:
Near the start of the dryathlon I asked myself: Why do I drink at home? Most of the possibilities seemed pretty dark: addiction; an excuse to fail; trying to filter out the noise of the universe; self-destruction; habit.
Proooooobably better to cut it out, then.
I racked my brains to think of the most meaningful thing I know. Settled on this:
Meaning. Tick. Next.
I kept getting emails from Cancer Research UK written by their spokesperson Will Power. Living outside the UK, I don't get to know all the new B and C list celebrities. I thought he might be a medal winner from the Olympics or someone with a fitness show. It took five emails for the lightbulb to go off.
Bonus lol: I showed the first draft of this post to Jen. She said, "It's okay, but who is Will Power?"
Quitting drinking hasn't turned me into Stakhanov overnight, but I have been a lot more productive so far this month. I've written every day and every night and hit my exercise targets. It's simple, really: there are more useful hours in my day.
If I open a bottle of wine at 9pm that's me done for the night - I can maybe edit but not create, and exercise is a non-starter. After drinking, I don't sleep well, am tired the next day, and try to unwind with a beer the next night. Repeat endlessly.
So yeah. Quit drinking. Get more done.
Nick probably meant for me to write something about how cancer is a grim spectre that haunts my family, killing us off one by one like a sniper with a gun and a grudge.
I tried to remember all the people I know who have died, and turned the data into a pie chart:
But that got way too depressing, so instead of thinking about that, I'll list things I like to touch and how I like to do it:
- My bellybutton (slap with thumb)
- My belly (with palm of hand, esp. after exercise)
- The cold shell of my new Macbook air (erotically, as in a porno)
- Jen's lips (pressing my finger onto them to shush her up)
Calculating the time it took to write and rewrite this post versus my hourly income from teaching and it's 'worth' about 120 pounds. Of course, no-one pays me to write. So this post is either worth 120 pounds or zero pounds. The banker in Deal or no Deal would definitely stump up 3 pounds given the same situation.
My logic is inescapable, Butcher. The donate button is this way->