Disclaimer: I Am Not an Alcoholic. Alcohol’s Just Been a Catalyst Lately…

I’m thinking of more serious things at the moment, but these thoughts have not yet been articulated to the new-blog-post-worthy-stage, so for now, I’d like to expound on a sweet debauchery:

One of the best feelings in the world is coming home after a long night of self-indulgence (read: some serious drinking) -- you know- those last few moments before reaching your door- intensely dreaming about the comfort and warmth of your bed and refrigerator (tho hopefully your fridge isn’t warm). Putting on your favorite raggedy, yet oh-so-comfy jammies that make you feel like you never ever want to go outside again- especially not tonight. As with everything, this feeling eventually fades away and you eventually get out of bed and eventually put that box of cookies back in the cupboard and eventually makeyour way to the outside world again. But sometimes, sometimes… I wonder if the reason why I go out some nights (esp those nights when I’m going out just so that I don’t fulfill my flake-like tendencies) is purely just to come home to this feeling.

But somehow, it always goes away. You can’t fight it. Eventually this cozy, comfy feeling turns into you staring either at your TV or computer screen in a half-crazed stupor wondering where the hell your day went and questioning why it’s already dark outside. Then you go through the five stages of I Couldn’t Have Drank That Much Last Night Syndrome (which weirdly resembles the famous Kubler-Ross model on grief):

1. Denial. This isn’t happening to me. Why, when I look outside, is there no more sunlight? Must be North Korea testing out its new block-out-the-sun missile. Yeah, that’s definitely it.
   
2. Anger. What have I done to deserve this? I remembered the whole drink 1 glass of water with every drink rule and I ate. If anything, I ate way too much! This really doesn’t make any sense! Why is my day gone?? Why do I have to suffer this feeling of Saturday night disillusionment? Also, I don’t feel that good!
   
3. Bargaining. Ok, just make it 2:00pm again and I swear, this will never happen again. I will stop buying those ridiculously warm Korean towel pants that make it difficult forme to stop wallowing around in bed - and I will stop cursing at the emptiness in my cupboards… if you’ll just give me a little more time.
4. Depression. What’s the point? It’s already past the point of no return. I should just finish this box of Mother’s Fingers cookies and call it a night.
5. Acceptance. But you know what? I guess there’s no point in fighting it. Yes, the day is gone, but the night remains. And…if I go out tonight…maybe no one will notice that I’m wearing jammy pants.

And so it goes.

I’d like to add a quick Korean layer to all this. Upon coming home, I suffer the strange Korean reality of walking home toward red electric crucifixes. (and btw, I know what you’re thinking. Shouldn’t it be crucifi? Just say it out loud.) On those particularly brutal nights, I wonder what I could have done to be walking toward a sea of these things.

But then I see a swarm of Rain posters plastered on the side of a building and the endless upon endless cell phone shops and realize where I am…and that this is just how Korea is.

More on that later…