"Please don't stop me from drinking, oh, it's my only joy!
Please don't stop me from smoking, oh, this is my reward!"
Thus Gene.
I'm afraid that I got disgracefully drunk last night. I woke up this morning, as the blues songs have it, and I groaned, both with pain in my head and at the hazy memories that came back to me like corpses rising to the surface of a polluted river.
Please let me apologise to anyone who attended my reading last night if my behaviour was anything like what police call 'drunk and disorderly'. Thank you to Ed, without whom I fear I would not have got home. I have vague memories of him telling the pub staff that I was okay and that he would take me home.
Now I must clean the vomit off my shoes and see if I can salvage the day.
How funny! I got really drunk last night too. Something to do with Bastille Day. The night started off perfectly lovely with French wine and escargots and the cutest little French waitress you’d ever want, and then at some point I looked around and realized I was in my neighborhood bar, drinking Bushmills, monopolizing the jukebox and dancing with a shifty-eyed, shell-shocked Gulf War vet who now makes tamales for a living and who I think really wanted me to leave him alone. Somehow I managed not to vomit on my shoes, but I think that’s just because I’m a girl.
I had a headache all day. But I discovered a secret cure: eat nothing all day except coffee. Then, at dinner time, have a candy bar and some Cheetos. Good as new.
Also, weed helps.
Peace.
E
At least you’re not a corpse rising to the surface of a polluted river.
Thankfully I have not yet come to that pass, it’s true.
Hello Esme.
Memories of drunken nights always embarrass me. Also, I find it scary when there are blanks in my memory. When I was younger I never used to get hangovers or memory gaps, so the first time I had a definite memory gap I found it quite fascinating and strange.
On the evening mentioned in this post, I am told (by the friend that helped me home) that I was no trouble at all – very apologetic – just exceedingly drunk. Apparently we stopped outside the churchyard at one point, where I threw up and sang from Cemetery Gates, by The Smiths, but I have no recollection of this whatsoever.