I wrote this article while drunk
It’s 2:17 AM. I’ve stumbled my way back to my dorm from some other person’s dorm. Don’t worry, their neighbors didn’t complain. Or, at least, we couldn’t hear any complaints. There’s vomit in the trash can and trash on the floor. The trash can is also on the floor. My dignity’s in the trash too. Anyways, my laptop screen is blindingly bright and my roommate’s just fallen asleep again. They woke up just to yell at me for arriving back at this unholy hour.
Why do I do this? Not because I’m an alcoholic. An alcoholic could never sustain a career as a successful writer. I’m drunk because I have made the bold decision to write this article while completely sloshed. For the new insights it is offering and will offer. This is different from my other articles, which I write on Adderall.
You see, sobriety creates lies. It’s a sterile and formulaic process shackled by grammar, coherence and self restraint. Sober Me outlines. Sober Me uses Oxford commas. Sober Me uses transitions (and, like any true CMU student, dreams of transitioning to the opposite gender. Unfortunately, alcohol hasn’t fixed this). Drunk Me, however, is a visionary. Drunk Me understands that true genius stems not from restraint and the prefrontal cortex but from somewhere more southern and incontinent. When barriers are down, truth may reign. In vino veritas. The Greeks knew what was up. And you know what truths are being suppressed by society, God, and Farnam? The big ones. About CMU.
Sober Me would never examine the real questions: Why are there so many squirrels on campus? Did they immigrate from Squirrel Hill? Why do none of the other fauna get scared when people approach? On the other hand, I’m extremely afraid right now: Is there a camera aimed at the free Narcan in the UC? And if they’re watching the Narcan, who knows what else they’re watching? Like those 3.7 seconds of desperate, yearning eye contact I made last Thursday with a guy outside Baker. Was that hot guy gay or CFA? Is there a difference? I have the questions and the answers.
First, sober science calls them rodents. They’re not. They’re parts of a neural network gathering big data for SCS. Squirrel Hill is where the pruned weights go to live. Think I’m nuts? Fine, but when ASI (Artificial Squirrel Intelligence) arrives, don’t come crying to me. Now, the other animals. They don’t get scared because we’re CMU students. We’re nothing in the face of a rabbit. Have you seen the size of their teeth? Of course you have. You’re probably a furry.
On to the Narcan. There’s a camera. Duh! But the camera’s not for CMUPD to catch students. It’s for a sinister plot the school of drama is up to. They don’t have time to get high anymore, so they watch us for inspiration on how to play their roles in Long Day’s Journey. Also, please don’t ask why I’m thinking about Narcan after a party. I plead the Fifth; let’s move on.
And the hot guy. I could talk all night about hot guys but, sadly, the answer is obvious. At this point, the math major part of my brain that I haven’t managed to fully drown in alcohol wants me to say that CFA is a subset of gay. Regardless, he’s not CFA or gay. He’s a figment of my sleep-deprived imagination. There are no hot people at CMU. Not with our sleep schedules and hygiene.
Speaking of which, let’s talk about the body. Specifically, my body’s current situationship with gravity. My head feels like a leaden weight while my feet are like helium balloons. This means I was able to walk up the stairs to my room without stumbling. Besides alcohol making CMU students more coordinated (two wrongs do make a right!), I am now able to connect with the campus in my new state of enlightenment. I’ve always wondered why Wean’s so ugly. Now I know. The whole building is a giant Turing machine designed to separate the functional from the … oh god, the room is spinning. Focus. The point is, you need to be drunk to see the genius of the weird mix of brutalist, gothic revival, and neo pool tile architecture on the campus we share.
People! I love my fellow students, even you. Because you work and you work. And so when I don’t, I’m special. I’m a rebel for being a normal college student, I’m a rock star for being invited to a party, I’m an outlier for having a social life. At any other school, I’d be a dork. So, as I finally reach a word count of 750 (thank you for counting, Google Docs), I raise my glass—or I would, if I hadn’t knocked it over halfway through—to you. Shit, it spilled onto my keyiafbnjkd