Keto Day 8

Oof. I drank heavily this morning. I mean… It was when I got off work, but that was at 6am and the sun had risen, so… Three light beers accidentally opened by the bartenders, two or three much better beers I intentionally poured myself, and about four shots of Jameson. Obviously none of that is keto-friendly, but there isn’t much that feels cooler or more satisfying than drinking in a closed bar after a long night.

I was feeling particularly good when I got home, and here’s what I had to say (edited to account for drunk grammar mistakes):

Am I supposed to believe that the version of me that takes more reverence in the sun shining through the leaves of a tree nearby, or gives more leeway to the actions of my hyperactive dog, or laughs off the little things with greater ease is somehow a worse version of me because that version of me is related to my alcohol consumption? What if I truly am a better person as a result of the influence of alcohol? Do the negatives associated with alcohol consumption warrant a complete disregard for all of the positives that alcohol has had in my life previously and to this day? Are all of the relationships I’ve hardened in the kiln of inebriation meaningless?

All good questions, Drunk Sean. Definitely worth pondering.

Anyway, the hangover has not been enjoyable. The water with lemon juice and Himalayan salt helped, but didn’t completely remedy the queasiness and it’s done absolutely nothing about my extreme unwillingness to do things. I took my dog on a long walk, though, so I’m feeling pretty good about my accomplishments for today.

I’ve been watching a lot of Tom DeLauer’s videos to guide me through this keto thing, and he has one on keto-approved fast food items. Thank heavens for that video and Postmates because there’s no fucking way I’m cooking anything today. Tom repeatedly made the point that these fast food options should only be used in a pinch, but so far as I’m concerned that’s what I’m in. Five Guys is on the way and my dog and I are hunkered down in the cool, dark cave that is my apartment – him napping peacefully, me watching the new season of Jessica Jones and dreading getting up to go downstairs via elevator to get my food. It’s raining outside. I call bullshit on it being summer.

The barbacoa is from the 24 hour Mexican place nextdoor to the bar, but Chipotle’s is probably pretty similar.

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