<h1>Oh Bacchus, Quo Vadis?</H1>

I have come to the conclusion I am not playing with a full deck. I am at war with Bacchus, that cunning, conning, conniving god created by the Romans as an excuse to drink wine to excess. He thinks he can control me by tempting me to have a glass now and again and, dammit, he sometimes succeeds.

Now a glass of wine a couple of times a month should not be a burden and, if it weren't for a co conspirator, working undercover, such frequency would not be an issue. So, every so often, I hear a small, chilling voice in the back of my brain telling me "just one glass....it won't happen again". I hate that lousy voice because I usually succumb to it, with a disastrous result.

Bacchus lures me in and his henchman, amantadine, seals the deal. They combine to deny me sleep. Don't drink wine if you take amantadine or you will spend most, if not all, of the night wide awake with nothing to do but think deeply on the subject of linoleum and its unsolvable problems. You pay for it the next day worrying and wondering if sleep is a luxury beyond your means.

The lesson of today's lecture is if you are on amantadine, avoid the grape. I didn't last evening and now at 9AM, I am beginning to yawn, my silent shout of #%&@ you Bacchus. I will win next time.