I woke today, confused and baffled and hung over, lying on the sofa in the living room with all the lights on, huge holes punched in my memory, vaguely certain that I’d been drinking strong cocktails from a coconut the night before.
I struggled all morning, failing to engage with the universe, then went to my first ever Spanish class. I’ve never been to a language class that I wanted to before in my life, so that was quite different. I’ve also never seen an electronic dry erase board before, a singularly impressive piece of technology.
I was fairly pleased with my progress today, although it’s not like I was doing super difficult Spanish. After two hours I could ask, with some hope of being comprehended, what country a ki, Hanerman,is frolic kfnodneiz ansnAakaiunqinnnnsibyiu dinnt wjpa but that suggests maybe I’ve list the plot.
I wish I knew what I meant at this point. Had I got so drunk I was now typing fluently in Finnish? Bulgarian?
This evening, I undid all my good work,by cookinenn food. I hope what I wrote tonight will be more efficient
And then I just stopped. I think I meant I undid my good work by cooking and eating food, but exactly what good work had I undone? Is learning Spanish incompatible with eating? Should I ever drink again?