What even is OK? I came up with a brilliant answer in the bath the other day. I’ve been getting into the habit of bringing a hard drink in there with me, something like a martini, or a negroni, or maybe just straight whiskey with “ice” whispered into the glass. Sometimes I’ll have five while the water gets cold. And one time I came up with the perfect explanation for this “OK” nonsense, but I didn’t write it down and forgot it by the time I toweled off so. . . whatever it was. . . that’s what it is.
All this thinking of and forgetting reminds me of a time walking home from a bar on the coldest, snowiest night of the year, desperately licking the dripping from my nose to get it back on my gums. There is something lovely about forgetting the good stuff. . . a life better than the sum of its face. . . . I would like to be reminded of more of what I’ve forgotten, but my brain seems only capable of carouseling the same few disastrous decisions and hilarious jokes.
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