Everything I do now is based on the premise that, within a week, I will be 30. This means I don't care because after my birthday, I won't do it anymore.
I have been drunk since Thursday. At the moment I am 95% sober.
On Friday at work after lunch, I poured myself a glass of wine in a plastic cup, just a little pick-me-up. When I turn 30 I will condemn anyone who drinks to make work more interesting.
When I am 30 I will not stagger into McDonald's and assault as many cheeseburgers as the coins in my pocket will buy.
When I am 30 I will tidy up my bedroom.
There are empty glasses on every surface and where there aren't glasses there are dirty bowls with spoons in and bits of cereal lining the bottom.
An empty can of beer sits next to the Berocca.
I don't care. This place is a pigsty. When I am 30 it will be immaculate.
When I am 30 I will be beautiful and I will brush my teeth regularly. I can't remember the last time I did so.
As a 30-year-old, I will attend gym and I won't get bored and wander out after 25 minutes.
I am a mess. I am smelly and dirty and I don't care. When I go out I wear a newly-washed T-shirt and spray on masses of deodorant, to hide the smell that I haven't showered for two days.
This is like the last blow-out. The last chance to behave like a student, a layabout and a pig.
Now, I am 87% sober because while typing this - and buying music from iTunes - I have been sipping on a Stella in a can. The cold beer is perched and smiling at me from my bedside table.
Please don't think this is what I ordinarily do. I don't usually lie in bed on a Saturday night with the window open, knocking back beer and buying music online.
But I am 29 years and 350-odd days old. You will understand while I behave like this for one last time.
I thought I had rid myself of these urges. Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Oh yeah, and this is my new blog. I hope you like it.