Last night I got smashed!
Two shots of black rum, two shots of absinthe, and the gallant Kevin had to more or less pour me into the car. I’ve figured out WHY I like absinthe–it’s the only drink I’ve had where I can’t taste the alcohol, because the intense licorice taste, for whatever reason, kills the perception of alcohol. (I’m hypersensitive to the taste of alcohol–whenever people wave fruity drinks around and say “You can’t even taste the booze!” believe me, I can taste it. Absinthe is the only thing I’ve found where I can’t.)
Fortunately Jason and Badger were on hand to keep me amused while I was sinking into the depths of toastitude (it was Jason’s fault, he was pouring the drinks, although I think Badger had a consulting position on the absinthe.) Then home, stayed up until 3:30 or so, slept the sleep of the just until a bit after noon, and woke up full of boundless energy and desire to get some art done.
See, I don’t get hangovers. Get me absolutely trashed, and I am informed that the next morning I transform into…a perky goth. (I know. The horror.)*
This actually–to put on my armchair psychopharmacology hat–leads into my theory that it’s the Effexor that’s causing my lack of motivation, since one of the effects of drinking alcohol while on Effexor is supposedly to counteract the effects of the drug for several days. Not so good when it’s keeping you on an even keel, but it WOULD explain why lately whenever I get smashed, I wake up motivated and bouncy. Alas, I still get TIRED, but I’m hoping once I’m off the meds, I will bounce back to my usual levels of psycho productivity.
Then again, that may just be silly. Brain chemistry is rarely so straightforward.
But I feel good today, I had a great night, I spent a chunk of the morning discussing theology** and now I’m going to be bad and not work on any of the writing I’m supposed to do, and instead paint some stuff for my own amusement, because I haven’t done that in a dog’s age.
Life is really pretty damn good.
*My buddy Dave puts forward the theory that I am actually transferring my hangover to everyone else in the vicinity. This is entirely possible, but I would like to state for the record that it’s involuntary.
**Surprisingly, not a euphemism.