Fashioning Spoons

It's become a terrible vice; and the drinking only makes it worse. I never intend to terrorize, that is not the purpose of this exercise. It's a bi-product, like the excess fat that collects when going through the process of making premium ice-cream. I get sufficiently inebriated and it just happens. It's becoming instinctual, and all so very rote. It's just a condition that emanates from countless beers at Ryan's. I come home, sprawl out on the couch, and convince myself that I'm sober enough to commence texting and dialing. I pass out in the comforts of beige sheets in between thoughts and mold my body to the plastic casing of my Samsung, contemplating the appropriate position of the inconvenient arm.