Indeed it was. It's actually the last thing I remember about that night, before the complication itself. I recall trying and failing to get up off the floor as I shouted out the first lines of this poem.
I HAVE THE SOLUTION. YOU ARE POSSESSED BY THE GHOST OF W.B. YEATS' PET FISH ERIC. OK, MAYBE THAT IS NOT THE SOLUTION AFTER ALL. SORRY I WENT OFF HALF-COCKED.
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