When it came to my booze consumption, I always planned ahead. I hated to run out and liked to have the next one in front of me before finishing what I was drinking. It made me feel secure. I remember that a very dear friend, whom I rarely see these days, used to remind me of a time when I was 17 and I went round to her place. She had one bottle of wine, with no possibility of getting more. Even at that tender age, I realized that a glass or two of wine would trigger me into wanting to get wasted, so instead I refused to drink any, not wanting to put myself through the mental torture of starting something that I couldn't finish in the manner that I wanted. It would have put me in a horrible mood. I thought of it like awakening the dragon, teasing it with the smell of food, then walking away without feeding it properly.

You only aggravate it. Pointless.