Have I lost the capacity for clarity? My mind feels dull, as though the effects of my recklessness are finally taking their toll. Will I regret my commitment to the present when all the nimbleness of thought that I was born with has left my body, replaced by assortments of rum and whisky derivatives?
Perhaps. But would this be a testament to the fun I've had? Would this be a sign that I lived twice as furiously, half as long? Or will it mean that, when I am finally ready to create something, I instead find it lost in a sea of murky, clouded thoughts.
An experiment comes to mind - self-imposed prohibition will reign, and I the scientist will examine the regenerative powers of my own brain.
Results to follow.