Normally I’m a functional drunk. But every now and then I’ll push it too far and lose my sense of time and space. Last night I was so drunk (two pitchers and a pint of STRONG beer — Racer X, my favorite bar beer, 7.8% alcohol content, has a nice kick to it) that I fell down when I was reaching for the piece of cardboard that I use for a sleeping mat. Toppled over and fell into a ditch. I tried several times to stand up. But it was hopeless My equilibrium was off. “Fighting against the laws of gravity,” is how I put it. And losing. So I wisely decided to sleep right there. In the ditch. And I had my cardboard to sleep on. So it was actually quite comfortable.
Woke up a couple hours later. And was sober enough to navigate my way up the hill a hundred yards to where I had my sleeping bag stashed. I fed my feral cats — who had been waiting patiently for me to quit goofing around and get my goddam ass out of the ditch and feed them. And then crawled into my sleeping bag and lived happily ever after. Until the next morning when I woke up feeling like shit.