Dry January completed.
"I do like to drink, but I can do that at home. Fortunately, I'm a cheap drunk. A few glasses and I can understand Lacan." The Body, Hanif Kureishi
I laughed at that line, recognizing myself in a novel about being able to buy a new younger body to live life again more wisely. But. 1. I didn't particularly like to drink, I just liked my own company better a little shitfaced, the way you like almost anyone better when you're a little shitfaced. 2. Far from cheap, I pay a high price for myself. 3. I could understand Lacan sober, for all that's worth.
So I gave up drinking. Didn't take any effort at all. Didn't get smarter, thinner, kinder - nothing happened. But. Maybe that's the good thing that came of it, ie nothing at all.
The Body ends recommitting to the greater pleasures of being old then dying. Complete bullshit. It might have been more interesting to choose a body of a different gender and color, perhaps growing wiser in the process, because age itself doesn't get you anywhere in that department. From where I'm standing, I feel the fears of the old, how they fear to move lest they fall, which is just a physical expression of the fear of making any more mistakes. Like this broad, who had not much on her mind but horses and catching dick in the morning. Any one of us might ride a horse and catch a little dick, ya know? It's not like she split the atom. She's on trial for not doing enough when really what she should have done is even less, like not had a kid, another thing any of us might do, have done.
Now what?
