Shit faced

I’ve been thinking about getting shit faced, but then haven’t quite gone for it. It may be that the full moon is only three days away, it may be a particular planetary alignment, pmt, or just capitalism, but I’ve been quite restless these days, dreaming of empty rooms where I was anxiously searching for people who were not there. So I’ve been craving some form of escape. Yesterday I drank a beer very quickly and I started to feel a bit tipsy. I began to undulate – although since I’ve moved on water I’ve noticed that motion in my legs quite often when on land. After that first beer, I could have drank more, but I didn’t.

I think I’m a bit scared of waking up with a hangover, because when I gather up the courage to get out of bed and face the cold, I have to do all the chores – light the fire, wash my face with freezing water, shit in the plastic bag, think of an interesting new background for it, check that I’m not running out of electricity and if I am, start the engine. I’m worried I may not have the strength to carry out all these tasks, most of which are not really optional.

And I like that. I like that I have to do all these things. As a friend who also lives on a boat told me yesterday, having to deal with these small but essential jobs is grounding. It keeps your mind busy, you don’t have time to be sad as you may allow yourself to be if you woke up in your warm flat and sat in the kitchen chewing on a week-old cucumber. (Although of course you can be as miserable as you like once you’ve attended all your duties.) Also, you end up thinking of the effort that goes into what surrounds you. How things are made, how they work. And then you can just say fuck it and go to the pub to warm up your cold ass and get pissed.