So what I did last night may come as a shock to all and any who know me–I decided to get drunk.
Because I wanted to know what it was like. The last time I got drunk was at a Seder, which was years ago and because I went full traditional that year (which means no food after breakfast), and I had four shots of wine on an empty stomach.
Bad idea. Don’t do that.
So I decided to see what would happen if I was a bit more responsible and had an objective in mind this time (last time it was just being stupid and the eventual goal turned out to be “don’t punch the guest in the face because he’s telling your sister gays aren’t people because YOU’RE DRUNK, SALIX).
I have what I like to call a writer’s bucket list. The list is, so far, as follows and in no particular order:
-See what appears on the screen after 2~4 shots of whiskey
-Write a shitty romance novel
-Be put on the banned books list
-Get horrendously misrepresented by postmodernists
-Go to book signings
-Be invited to conventions as guest of honor
Alcohol certainly helped with the shitty romance writing. I accomplished ~5 1/4 pages in roughly 2hrs (while texting people my adventures) before I got too distracted and/or bored.
I also found my inhibitions didn’t change too much. My motor control certainly degraded, as did my articulation, but beyond that my texts appear to contain the usual amount of spelling and grammatical errors.
Of course, the amount I consumed is rather important. I purchased 3 minis (50mL) of various kinds of whiskey. They all tasted like plastic. Though, through the plastic, I found one kind I did enjoy and may go for again in the distant future should I ever choose to try this again. I can say for a fact I did not enjoy how disconnected my mind felt, nor did I enjoy how clouded I felt.
But it did provide me with a somewhat better understanding for those who do choose alcoholism. I don’t sympathize, but given how every worry just didn’t seem to set off the little glands by my kidneys, I can see why people who are in a constant state of worry, fear, and/or stress may opt for this. Or those in physical pain. Whatever weird muscle spasm problem I suffer from certainly took a backseat. In fact, one of the early indicators my liver was doing its job was the neck twitches had returned. Though the obnoxious cloudiness remained for another hour after that.
So yeah. That alcohol sure helped with writing, but this was definitely something I rather not do again for quite a while.
The god awful story is titled My Exboyfriend The Space Alien Assassin.
And yes. I am so totally publishing it on Amazon.