Before I Call It A Night

I've been working the late noon shift at work for the past six weeks. 4pm to midnight, day in and out. On Friday, I left at twelve and came back in six hours to pull eight hours more, filling in someone else's shoeOs, pick up a day's worth overtime. I've put off going out and limit one day biweekly to venture out and mingle. I ought to invest this time into building: gym, runs, errands, things for the room, new wardrobe, new everything. Already three very decent pair of jeans, 70% off. This store right across the street from H&M on 42nd street and fifth, called Zara. Cool, higher designer-like stuff, really.
A spotless shirt down to twenty dollars from seventy-nine.
Anyway, my routine seems pretty dull aside from running and going to the gym, cooking and taking food to work. Always bettering whatever surrounds me, whether it is people, situations or things. Cool to replace stuff around the old place, and leave a pint of Vodka or a bottle of Rum, or wine, sometimes even champagne.
You see, it makes economic sense to live with my mother's child. It just doesn't fair out in real life. Of course, I came around: I haven't cheated on her, that is, other than an inoffensive kiss, okay, maybe a make-out sessions. And no, I don't plan to continue with this celibacy madness. It wasn't meant to let time heal the wounds and maybe see myself back. I am looking forward, doing more with less and then some. I smoke a few cigarettes a day. I'm down to a beer per night. It relaxes me.
If I do go out, I drink more. Maybe six, seven drinks. Eat some, and then two more before I call it a night.