I am, for all intents and purposes, still drunk.
As such I am dwelling in the pleasant numbness between meaning what you say and being unable to express it, and being unable to mean what you say and expressing it anyway.
It is this state of verbal limbo - coupled with a inherent inability to use an 'indoor voice' ensuring everybody gets clear reception - that often gets me into the most trouble and, once again, it has not failed me.
[Those who choose to take the few minutes out of their day to read this may have already noticed that I'm being remarkable vague - admittedly this is due in part to the delicate nature of my subject but overall a smokescreen behind which I can slowly begin hammering the dents out of my pride.]
So now, as I sit at my computer licking my wounds, I cannot help but be drawn back to one question; What the hell was I thinking?
This can be applied to any number of separate incidents last night or equally act as an all-encompassing expression of why Annie should never drink Jaeger Bombs after reading early 19th Century adventure novels...
Let me expand that point with the responsible quotation;
"The thought involuntarily pressed on her, that she herself must venture, were it but the point of her fairy foot, beyond the prescribed boundary, if she ever hoped to give a lover so reserved and bashful an opportunity of so slight a favour as but to salute her shoe-tie". Scott, The Talisman
The moment my verbal boundaries begin to blur, and I am allowed to roam within the unsuspecting public loose-lipped, locked and loaded, is also the point at which reality wiggles itself out of my grasp and suddenly I become an astoundingly delusional (but admittedly incredibly fun) mess.
Unfortunately, despite the predictability of my own actions, the company I will be in when it deigns to happen is a wild card and this time I got the Knave of Hearts.
Which brings me back to Scott (via tenuous links steeped in symbolism - go do your research) and how in some way or another, because he's dead and therefore an ideal opponent for argument, this is all his fault.
Annie.
<3
As such I am dwelling in the pleasant numbness between meaning what you say and being unable to express it, and being unable to mean what you say and expressing it anyway.
It is this state of verbal limbo - coupled with a inherent inability to use an 'indoor voice' ensuring everybody gets clear reception - that often gets me into the most trouble and, once again, it has not failed me.
[Those who choose to take the few minutes out of their day to read this may have already noticed that I'm being remarkable vague - admittedly this is due in part to the delicate nature of my subject but overall a smokescreen behind which I can slowly begin hammering the dents out of my pride.]
So now, as I sit at my computer licking my wounds, I cannot help but be drawn back to one question; What the hell was I thinking?
This can be applied to any number of separate incidents last night or equally act as an all-encompassing expression of why Annie should never drink Jaeger Bombs after reading early 19th Century adventure novels...
Let me expand that point with the responsible quotation;
"The thought involuntarily pressed on her, that she herself must venture, were it but the point of her fairy foot, beyond the prescribed boundary, if she ever hoped to give a lover so reserved and bashful an opportunity of so slight a favour as but to salute her shoe-tie". Scott, The Talisman
The moment my verbal boundaries begin to blur, and I am allowed to roam within the unsuspecting public loose-lipped, locked and loaded, is also the point at which reality wiggles itself out of my grasp and suddenly I become an astoundingly delusional (but admittedly incredibly fun) mess.
Unfortunately, despite the predictability of my own actions, the company I will be in when it deigns to happen is a wild card and this time I got the Knave of Hearts.
Which brings me back to Scott (via tenuous links steeped in symbolism - go do your research) and how in some way or another, because he's dead and therefore an ideal opponent for argument, this is all his fault.
Annie.
<3
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