After consulting my counsel, henceforth I shall no longer provide additional posts concerning Ophelia. (Granted I did not inform counsel of the existing posts but judging from counsel's reactions, this would be in line.) As it is, I have probably written too much. Nonetheless, I refuse to withdraw any of it. Barring actual legal problems, I will not remove content (i.e. previous posts) from this blog. As such, this is the last post one can expect in relation to this topic (given various caveats I will not enumerate, e.g. good fortune).
Why is it that upon recognition of a truth, especially a hard truth, I resort to drinking as a form of absolution? For some reason, I have come to associate getting rip-roaring drunk as a form of cleansing and passage. A way of accepting something I truly do not want to accept. Immediately prior to my break up with H, I knew it was coming. Some part of me recognized this fact. I spent 3-4 nights in a row getting completely and utterly smashed due to said subsequent break up. Alas, I fear tonight is moderately similar. Two beers down, more to go. Time to get started, I feel myself slipping down the slope of sobriety.
ADDENDUM: Go Yankees! [10:08 PM]