It occurs to me that I should probably be drunker. I should point out that, despite several screwdrivers, whiskeys and Pilsners, I am still unfortunately coherent. I’m doing the best that I can. But there is this thing called an evening in which one must endure.
Even so, I suspect that National Drunken Writer Night, to most people, involves keeping on the safe ‘n sane. The question here is whether you want endurance or the immediate cum shot. If desirable, please advise in the comments as to how you’d like me to proceed with drink.
[Note: I should point out that typing is becoming harder. So perhaps I’ve fulfilled some of the dicta behind this exercise. B will know for sure. But if there are any independent judges, please fire away. Also check out Gwenda, who is doing a more remarkable job than I am at this. She, alas, has an understanding husband, whereas I have the remarkable savior of Kazaa Lite-downloaded pornography. The porn, I should point out, is disappointing and hardly as valuable as, oh say, a significant other. I doubt my capacity to go into the world on the prowl, but stranger things have happened. You want interactive? This is it, baby!]
I can tell you that, for me, drunken writing usually involves writing something that I wake up the next morning regretting. My cover story is that it’s because it’s goofily written, which it usually is, but of course it’s really because it usually reveals something I’m afraid to show the world. That’s where I’m trying to go with this exercise, in a community sort of way. So, given a choice between moderate intoxication + endurance + crafted writing/thoughts, and high intoxication + passing out within an hour + writing that is minimally moderated by our better judgment, I vote for the second.
Not so much understanding as unconscious (George the Dog gets up at 6)… I actually took a break and started drinking water due to unbearable typos. Damn you drunken spelling! (Not to be confused with Tori.)