SANTA FE OFFERS COOL ESCAPE

Tuesday I drank wine in San Antonio, Wednesday in Lubbock, and Thursday in Santa Fe. Famed journalist and podcaster Bob Rivard, my compadre, invited me to ride shot gun. He is going to compete in a 100-mile cycling race Sunday in this beautiful city that has a singular distinction between its architecture and art. I will most assuredly be drinking another bottle tonight.

Buddies don't drink tea. I always pay a price for my excesses, whether in be hangovers or venereal diseases for examples. Today I awoke with a headache. Xanax and Excedrin, followed by food, are my most immediate counter-attacks. Hangovers also precipitate anxiety exacerbated by my own personal struggles. Nevertheless, I'm trying to wean myself off Xanax, or its commonly known generic form Alprazolam. 

I have been taking two milligram bars for several years now. I love the slow rush as it relaxes my body, but that is the reason it is so addictive. Withdrawal is no walk in the park either. I studied the recommendations on the internet. I've reduced my intake to 1.5 milligrams and for the last month I have adhered to this doses.

I've also employed a different strategy. Instead of taking the 1.5 in one swallow, I'm taking .5 quarters as I need them throughout the day. My first goaL is to reduce the quarters from three to two, which will lessen my intake to 1.0. I took one this morning. If I stick to the same pattern, I will take another in the late afternoon and another before I go to bed. 

Bob and I will continue to imbibe, so I don't think I can get down to 1.0. We return to San Antonio Wednesday where I will stay a few days. I want to hook up with my old Brownsville Herald partner Brad Doherty. He is a wine connoisseur, so my fate is a foregone conclusion. Next, I will travel to Austin where I will visit my son Joaquin and Tony Gray, ex-Rep Rene Oliveira's mil usos. There is no denying that the grape will flow for several days. I will continue to exercise, but I have no doubts that I will drag a weary body back to the border.

Since the alcohol consumption won't decrease, I won't be able to diminish my Xanax abuse. Instead, I will have to congratulate myself if I can remain steady at 1.5 for the time being. Maybe there will be a day when I can survive on only 1.0. If that happens, I will immediately break the story to my three readers.

On another front--and it's not the Villarreal/Ruvalcaba race--I find myself in 50 degree weather washed by a steady drizzle. In Brownsville we would almost mistake this temperature for an artic norther. It's refreshing. I'm properly attired. One day more of cold weather in another locale is one day less of hot weather in Brownsville. 

The food is fantastic. I had a paella at a tapas bar last night. Exquisite. Every evening is dining evolved into an aesthetic experience. Bob, who does everything first class, has made all the reservations. Just like we put our trust in the pilot as we sit in claustrophobic terror, I have complete faith that my compadre will execute the proper approach to squeeze all the marrow out of our aging bones. 

And do life goes on. I remain the eternal pessimist burdened by a haunting depression. I don't fear death, but I fear death for others. I feel like I'm on a battlefield in Brownsville. Everywhere I turn, the Grim Reaper is mowing down friends and acquaintances. But would we want it any other way. To live long is too suffer, but who doesn't want to live long until life is no longer worth living? To compensate for the darkness, more wine and more food, por favor. 

Bon appetit. 

Provecho.


 

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