Friday, November 15, 2013

Chocolate Man

Several times, lately, on my way to work, I have had a thought that caused me to say to myself, "When I get to work, that's going to be a blog post."  And then I get to work, and the idea is gone.  Completely, entirely gone, just a small echoing nothing, like the spot in your  mouth where the tooth was, and now is not.  Once I could even remember what the idea was about, something about a man...?  And chocolate...?  But no amount of thinking "man -- chocolate, man -- chocolate," over and over to myself; no amount of sitting with eyes closed and mind open, letting my empty brain drift, around the Man and the Chocolate; no amount of incubating the man and the chocolate caused them to hatch into the fluffy yellow chicks of the idea.

Drunk again, cooky, and this time on Gordon’s gin, which is a very good gin, I must agree, since it has made me drunk. I’m really truly drunk, too, with odd swayings and an inability to keep my eyes all the way open, and a lot of staggering sideways. It’s because there was more gin left in the bottle than I thought there would be, and after tasting and making the face of one who does not drink their gin straight, thank you very much, I made it into two drinks with the Canada Dry and put one of them in the freezer until the first one was done. And now the second one is also finished, and I am intoxicated. Not in the pass-out-forget-everything kind of way, but definitely in the can’t-walk-a-straight-line kind of way. And I just finished reading The Ruins for the third time, which I knew all along, with every turning page, was a bad idea, alone in the house at night and drunk. So I skipped the really heart-wrenching parts and just read the terrifying parts. Goody. Fortunately I am not quite drunk enough for anything in the house to start scaring me, although I turned off the circulatory fan, since its face kept looking at me.

This is the gin which Ruthie bought when she was here, last week, and the weekend before that – I bought Irish and she bought gin, and then Mickey came over and we drank it. And now I have finished it off. She told me that Gordon’s was, in her opinion, better than Tanqueray, which I took my leave to doubt, but let her buy it anyway. And it just might be. Or I might be drunk. Can’t tell you now, you know. Wait until tomorrow.

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