http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i8LO-PEXMeM&feature=related
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Most evenings I sit around fighting the desire to be exceptionally drunk; to make the world a swirl of random sounds and images washing in and out of awareness. I crave the embrace of the drink descending, flooding my brain, compensating for the lack of meaning in ordinary consciousness, substituting the ennui with a synthetic soup of contentedness.
Most evenings, I win the fight. I manage to distract myself with piano, or a friend visits, or I have something important the next day that dissuades me from opening the wine. It is always the memory of my memory that makes the strongest argument from getting on the razz however. The drunken brain remembers everything - sentimentally. Things that you've long put behind you come back and are suddenly meaningful again. And you feel them. And life has been nothing but unfair to you. The bottle doesn't resolve anything. As Jay Farrar said "alcohol doesn't have much that matters to say." All you have the next day is a hangover.
The highlight of the last fortnight was "teacher reorientation camp." All of the renewing suckers except for the ones who'd wormed their way out of it were sent to "Hanhwa Resort" in Yangpyeong for 3 days of lectures on how to be a more effective teacher. HOT AIR!!! I did enjoy the noraebang (karaoke) however and ended up being glad that I hadn't wormed my way out of the camp. I met some loverly new friends and even though they mostly had boyfriends I will probably talk to them again if I am in a decent enough mood and if the wind is blowing in the right direction.
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