What's your worst habit?

Wandering off alone, into the middle of the night, loaded.
Telling secrets to strangers.
Obliterating complex emotions with alcohol.
One night after another.

These unshakable wonts prove my irresponsibilty and my occasional, opaque stupidity. Regret crawls underneath my skin like a kind of formication.

I met slight erotomania. Blushed more than I can ever remembering blushing before - cheeks blazing as I my eyes darted over his familiar features. So I did what I always do. Got more drunk. Later, I wanted to talk to him about 'Nights at the Circus'. "Ah yes, Fevvers," he said, "hasn't someone just made that into a play?". "Yes, I went to see it the other week. It was good, except one of her wings fell off."