I haven’t drunk booze in 19 days. I’ve tried eating intestine-melting curry. I’ve tried lifting heavy things, drinking gallons of water. I’ve even tried sleep deprivation. Of all of these things, sleep deprivation has come closest to the familiarness of alcohol. So this morning, when I dragged myself out of a bed I’d only just got into, I felt suitably brain-dead. I couldn’t think – cotton wool was stuffed between my capacity to think and my thoughts. Regaining (partial) consciousness, I started to wonder what was real, and what was a dream.
As my little VC buddy would say:
“Dar fust dwink, dar man dwink dar bottul. Dar segon dwink, dar bottul dwink dar bottul. Dar turd dwink, dar bottul dwink dar man.”
At which point, my dwinking buddy would chip in,
“Then the bottle drinks the vodka, then the vodka goes to a nightclub and eats a kebab.”