This is not a confession.

Confessions are for guilty people. And all I'm guilty of is changing my mind. Again. And being relentlessly human. Happy New Year by the way. (Look at me getting all wrapped up in myself straight away - where on earth are my manners?). Anyway, as you may have guessed, I drank some alcohol over the holiday break. And I don't feel guilty. But the fact that I'm telling you about it probably means I'm feeling a little bit guilty... this is ridiculous. Here's what happened, and how I feel. We all know how much I love an absolute - not a vodka, but a rule to follow, a guiding light of complete certainty. I've talked about this before. But true to my own contradictory form, as much as I love absolutes, I hate absolutes. The very same thing that keeps me feeling safe and secure, also makes me feel suffocated and restricted. Yes, it's tough being me. So when Christmas day rolled around, and the usual stressful family situations presented themselves (some of my family love Christmas, others not so much. This often causes conflict, and some kind of meltdown or tantrum can usually be expected anywhere in between the peas, pud or presents.) I decided I was in no mood for being a martyr. When my little brother hopefully offered me a glass of Veuve, I said yes. And boy it tasted good. And on the spot I decided that as I was officially on holiday, and was officially taking a very short break from my relentless pursuit of progress, that I could bloody well have a drink if I happened to be feeling in the mood. And from that point on, for the rest of the week I allowed myself to drink if I felt like it, and I didn't go ape, and I didn't get any hangovers, and I really felt fine. I know what a turncoat I sound like, and for that I apologise.  I know it was only a few weeks ago I was saying no more alcohol ever. But it's a new year, and I've been thinking about the way I tend to do things, and I've come to this conclusion: trying to be perfect is dumb. It's a pointless pursuit that only sets you up for failure. This year I want to try and relax on the perfection front, enjoy a more real and less manicured experience, and embrace the fact that the odd fall from grace is a necessary part of living. But don't think I'm talking going jungle here. I still require order. I still have some very specific plans to carry out and precision manoeuvres to execute. But instead of pretending it would be fun and entirely awesome to be a perfect teetotaler forever and ever amen, I am going to factor in some opportunities for controlled abandon. Yes, I did just say "controlled abandon". I get it. I'm a walking comedy. But here's how it works. When I'm working, I'm not drinking. When I have important stuff to get done, I'm not drinking. When I'm trying to stay in shape, I'm not drinking. In fact, as a general rule, I'm really not drinking much of the time at all. However, when it comes time to take a well-earned holiday, I'm free to drink if I feel like it. Or when I get something really cool across the line, I'm free to celebrate with a drink if I feel like it. Or, on the very odd occasion when I just really feel like a relaxing glass of red with dinner, I'm free to have one. It's controlled freedom, a beautiful contradiction in terms. Oh yeah, and if you were wondering, my Christmas break is now officially over. So I'm back in action-land, back off the piss, and back to eating like the health nutcase I am. For the next little while at least.