Unexplained leg bruises. This means that I have toppled over, fainted, been shoved/pushed/pulled to various directions countless times due to an apparent dwindle in balancing skills (which I'm perfectly good at, btw).
Heady, fleeting thoughts. I remember snippets/scenes of the night but not the progression. I laughed at some, but cringed at most. Oh, add the migraine too. Hell.
Reeking, as in reeking hair. That requires more than 5 times of extensive shampooing in the morning. And a mouth that smelled of burned stale tobacco. Eeww.
Stripping for a cold shower and finding a damn freaking tattoo... which, despite my very low tolerance for pain, didn't jolt me from drunkenness while its being inked.
Last night, I was perfectly wasted. No, I didn't get a tattoo but I was thisclose to getting one. I don't remember getting home but I do remember saying silly stuff and making a total fool of myself. But anyway, I love and hate drinking for two things: 1) The best conversations crop up over rounds of liquor, 2) If I'm sober enough to remember them once the night ends.
The culprit was, again, the deadly Absolut Vodka (my waterloo, past present future) and the spot was Clover Bar in QC. The conversation was relevant because I had it with my FavoriteWriter or FW (could also mean FuckingWriter) who always know my writing hell.
Anyway, FW has this habit of delivering spot-on comments that makes me wonder if FW experienced/questioned the same things or I'm too transparent (I highly doubt this) or FW is just a freakin' psychic. The highlight of the conversation (abridged) was as follows:
Me: I'm on the verge. I know who I am before I became a TV writer. But six month after, I'm not so sure anymore. I lost myself somewhere, gave it away without me knowing it.
FW: Then you have to find it again. Go on a vacation, lose yourself again, find your values as a writer... A writer without a voice is not a writer. Why do you write? Why did you choose to write for TV?
Me: When I started? Because its more influential. I can influence more people through this medium. But now, I am frustrated.
FW: Well. Maybe you still lack the skills to put that reason into action. You're not satisfied with your output. But you should know that there are things you can and cannot change. Don't make war with the gods.
Me: (laughs meaningfully) Am I making war with the gods?!
FW: You're making war with yourself. What is your writing goal?
Me: To overcome you. I swear I will be a better writer. In two years, dude. Two years.
FW: You can't be more than me. You can only be yourself.
Me: I will be a better writer than you. My style and my voice will surpass yours.
FW: (smiles meaningfully) If that's the case... Galingan mo.
There. My perfect writing conversation on what became a perfectly wasted night. (If you think the cherry vodka photo is familiar, then you've probably seen the b&w book cover of David Sedaris's Holidays on Ice. Love that book.) - 12/19/2012
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