I taste like the alcohol I drank.
I did it for the experience, I must admit. Because alcohol makes everything awesome. Even me.
For example, I lost my ATM card and my sense of dietary restrictiveness. I’m awesome.
I don’t miss this. Waking up wondering: what day it is, if I walked the dog, then remembering I don’t have a dog and wishing I did so he could take my place in the world today.
Why is the lack of this feeling not enough to keep me from it?
Fragmented I write, thus fragmented I feel.