Am I already singing? Is that my voice or hers? My image in the mirror looks the same, pleasantly unglamorous, growing slowly older. Except that now there is gold dust on my lips. I smile. I can’t help it.
The Sweet Spot
The trick is to find the sweet spot and stay there for the evening. This is the place where I am pleasantly buzzed. Still coherent enough to carry on a conversation (albeit in a slightly slurred fashion), still on track to remember everything I did when I wake up in the morning, and yet blissfully…