01/28/2005 - 3:45 p.m.

I've been thinking about something, and that something is that I drink way too much.

I mean, way too much.

Since I moved in with my boyfriend in November, I've had something to drink every. Single. Night. And sometimes during the day, too, when I'm not working and my boyfriend is and it's nice to sit on the porch and quaff a beer or four and read a book and smoke a cigarette.

It's been easy to justify, because you can rationalize anything for a while.

The change of cohabitation has been stressful. Drinking helps me relax after work, so I can function with the trauma of having someone else in my space who wants attention and who sometimes, despite his best intentions, sucks away all my air.

It's not, I try to tell myself, like I have a problem. I don't call in sick to work. I rarely get hangovers. I've never had a DWI or anything like that (though if I'm honest, I can't say there's never been a time when I've driven when I shouldn't have).

And when you add in three beers, or six beers, or however many beers every day to weight-loss efforts, it does not compute.

I'm going to try something, and see if I can handle it. If I can't, then I suppose it's off to AA or wherever it is people like me go.

I'm not going to drink at home anymore. Not unless it's a legitimate party with other people over.

I'm not going to drink during the week anymore. Not even if I have the Weight Watchers points to spend. Which I rarely do anyway.

What I'm going to do is drink only on Saturdays, and only when out with friends. That's one day a week down from seven.

If I can do it, great. If I can't, well, I'd say that's a big signal that this is more than I can deal with on my own.

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