(no subject)
The following is an email i sent to my mother two minutes ago.
my dad calls them "letters"
Hey all,
I can't really produce a detailed email at the moment... I'm drunk. This is
an unfortunate reality as it -is- nine in the morning and I'm sitting in a
stock-trading office facing a long and involved day of columns and numbers. I
blame Faan's daughter... I seem to have temporarily forgotten her name. At
about seven o'clock last night she gave me a beer. I promptly drank it, and
enjoyed it much. Following that beer, we (consisting primarily of the two of us,but later also her husband)... "we" finished three more bottles of wine. Of those three bottles, I have absolutely no doubt or delusion, I consumed the
lionshare. The evening is difficult to recall, but to my calculation I must
have downed closer to two bottles than one. We, again the two of us and later her husband, discussed all manner of politics--African, American, Chinese, you name it. We discussed education, astrology, Faan, Locia, you (except for kirsten, no offense)... all sorts of things. Throughout this time she kept filling my glass... filling my glass... her husband came home... he filled my glass... filled my glass. I had dinner around 11 (he was late). My stomach was -completely- empty before that meal (not asisting my sobriety as you surely would expect)... and as a matter of comical irony, my stomach was also empty at the end of the night. Was this irrisponsible of me? Yes. But it's not like i was downing sorrows or intoxicating myself in preperation for a long night of deplorable activities. I was with friends. And these friends were also drunk. Just... not nearly as drunk as me. Why do i say this? For the simple reason of attempting to pathetically blame a series of bad personal decisions on someone else. That's right, it was Faan and Locia's daughter's fault (again, i cannot currently recall her name). She gave me the beer. She gave me the wine. She knew i would find that beer very pleasant and refreshing. She knew that her various wines, however unique in their
individual flavors and feels, were all identical in that they were
exceptionally delicious and unsuspectingly stupifying. She knew that in order
to lure me down that self-destructive path she had only to maintain a
conversation consisting of the proper amounts of politics, philosophy,
ethics, astrology, and gossip. This was no accident, it was ingeniusly crafted
and deployed. Therefore, it was all her fault. I accept no responsibility for
being delightfully toasted and jovile. I accept no responsibility for
stumbling, mumbling, and general aimlessness. I accept no responsibilty for
a brief affair with the commode. Or for being discovered the following morning
on their couch, with their two children and their two dogs sitting on top of
me, not sleeping for a particularly enrapturing episode of Teletubbies.
Mostly, however, I would like to make clear my outright rejection of any
personal responsibility for meandering around this financial office, feigning
intelligence (and balance for that matter), and generally not having a damn
clue what is going on. It's not my fault i feel like shit and, calorically
speaking, haven't eaten in a day and a half. I am the victim of good company
and good wine. Remember, Jesus made wine. You just think about that. I'm glad
to hear dad enjoyed my last email or "letter" as he calls it. I wonder how he
will recieve this one. Remember, a child is the product of parental guidance.
Keep that in mind when judging what i have said. It's funny, when home i constantly daydream of travel. When away, I think nothing more fondly or constantly than home. I also have dreamed considerably of Belize this morning, but I attribute that to sense memory: I feel like i'm on a boat. Coming to the end of this "letter", and considering the possibility of it being an intriguing and comical glimpse of my subconscious, I think it likely that i will share it with Raymund, Ada, Peter, and generally anyone I know... and perhaps a strangers as well. I need to go, someone has brought omlets. I think i will take mine lathered in tabasco sauce. It could have a negative effect, but i have always embraced adventure and staunchly believed in value of experimentation. Please do not worry about me, not that i think you would, but i say it anyway in case some hitherto unobserved child-protection complex surfaces from catacombs of your parental psyches. I am doing very well and enjoying my stay tremendously. Just not today. I am spending today with Faan's son-in-law, the commodity broker, as you may already have surmised. I go back to the farm tonight with them and some friends where Faan and Locia will join us in spirit from their bedroom in Joburg. Faan has arranged a stop at their beach house in the Cape, the fruit farm which may or may not be in the Cape, and number of other locales which i cannot remember except to say they are not in the Cape. I can't wait to go back to the farm. I plan to see lots of game and drink lots of water. I aslo sincerely hope my state improves enough to enjoy the surely delicious meal that Joseph will prepare. I won't tell you that everyone here wants you to come back--you know that already. Oh wait, i just did. Not trying to rub it in, just to catalyze. I don't know when I'll email again, internet is a rare commodity here. But know that between burning my candle at both ends I will write as soon as opportunity presents itself. It is very likely I won't remember any of this. That will hopefully not be due to alcohol induced brain damage (*refer to "don't worry"). In any case, if you write back discussing this novel i have written, don't be alarmed if i have no idea what your blathering about. Also, please notify the resident grammarian not to take offense with the plentiful spelling errors adorning this "letter". Love you all (this time including kirsten).
/cheers
my dad calls them "letters"
Hey all,
I can't really produce a detailed email at the moment... I'm drunk. This is
an unfortunate reality as it -is- nine in the morning and I'm sitting in a
stock-trading office facing a long and involved day of columns and numbers. I
blame Faan's daughter... I seem to have temporarily forgotten her name. At
about seven o'clock last night she gave me a beer. I promptly drank it, and
enjoyed it much. Following that beer, we (consisting primarily of the two of us,but later also her husband)... "we" finished three more bottles of wine. Of those three bottles, I have absolutely no doubt or delusion, I consumed the
lionshare. The evening is difficult to recall, but to my calculation I must
have downed closer to two bottles than one. We, again the two of us and later her husband, discussed all manner of politics--African, American, Chinese, you name it. We discussed education, astrology, Faan, Locia, you (except for kirsten, no offense)... all sorts of things. Throughout this time she kept filling my glass... filling my glass... her husband came home... he filled my glass... filled my glass. I had dinner around 11 (he was late). My stomach was -completely- empty before that meal (not asisting my sobriety as you surely would expect)... and as a matter of comical irony, my stomach was also empty at the end of the night. Was this irrisponsible of me? Yes. But it's not like i was downing sorrows or intoxicating myself in preperation for a long night of deplorable activities. I was with friends. And these friends were also drunk. Just... not nearly as drunk as me. Why do i say this? For the simple reason of attempting to pathetically blame a series of bad personal decisions on someone else. That's right, it was Faan and Locia's daughter's fault (again, i cannot currently recall her name). She gave me the beer. She gave me the wine. She knew i would find that beer very pleasant and refreshing. She knew that her various wines, however unique in their
individual flavors and feels, were all identical in that they were
exceptionally delicious and unsuspectingly stupifying. She knew that in order
to lure me down that self-destructive path she had only to maintain a
conversation consisting of the proper amounts of politics, philosophy,
ethics, astrology, and gossip. This was no accident, it was ingeniusly crafted
and deployed. Therefore, it was all her fault. I accept no responsibility for
being delightfully toasted and jovile. I accept no responsibility for
stumbling, mumbling, and general aimlessness. I accept no responsibilty for
a brief affair with the commode. Or for being discovered the following morning
on their couch, with their two children and their two dogs sitting on top of
me, not sleeping for a particularly enrapturing episode of Teletubbies.
Mostly, however, I would like to make clear my outright rejection of any
personal responsibility for meandering around this financial office, feigning
intelligence (and balance for that matter), and generally not having a damn
clue what is going on. It's not my fault i feel like shit and, calorically
speaking, haven't eaten in a day and a half. I am the victim of good company
and good wine. Remember, Jesus made wine. You just think about that. I'm glad
to hear dad enjoyed my last email or "letter" as he calls it. I wonder how he
will recieve this one. Remember, a child is the product of parental guidance.
Keep that in mind when judging what i have said. It's funny, when home i constantly daydream of travel. When away, I think nothing more fondly or constantly than home. I also have dreamed considerably of Belize this morning, but I attribute that to sense memory: I feel like i'm on a boat. Coming to the end of this "letter", and considering the possibility of it being an intriguing and comical glimpse of my subconscious, I think it likely that i will share it with Raymund, Ada, Peter, and generally anyone I know... and perhaps a strangers as well. I need to go, someone has brought omlets. I think i will take mine lathered in tabasco sauce. It could have a negative effect, but i have always embraced adventure and staunchly believed in value of experimentation. Please do not worry about me, not that i think you would, but i say it anyway in case some hitherto unobserved child-protection complex surfaces from catacombs of your parental psyches. I am doing very well and enjoying my stay tremendously. Just not today. I am spending today with Faan's son-in-law, the commodity broker, as you may already have surmised. I go back to the farm tonight with them and some friends where Faan and Locia will join us in spirit from their bedroom in Joburg. Faan has arranged a stop at their beach house in the Cape, the fruit farm which may or may not be in the Cape, and number of other locales which i cannot remember except to say they are not in the Cape. I can't wait to go back to the farm. I plan to see lots of game and drink lots of water. I aslo sincerely hope my state improves enough to enjoy the surely delicious meal that Joseph will prepare. I won't tell you that everyone here wants you to come back--you know that already. Oh wait, i just did. Not trying to rub it in, just to catalyze. I don't know when I'll email again, internet is a rare commodity here. But know that between burning my candle at both ends I will write as soon as opportunity presents itself. It is very likely I won't remember any of this. That will hopefully not be due to alcohol induced brain damage (*refer to "don't worry"). In any case, if you write back discussing this novel i have written, don't be alarmed if i have no idea what your blathering about. Also, please notify the resident grammarian not to take offense with the plentiful spelling errors adorning this "letter". Love you all (this time including kirsten).
/cheers