I was starting to learn the social etiquette of the postblackout processing session, letting someone tell me what I’d done and then helping him figure out why I might have done it. I did WHAT? I’d ask. Why would I do THAT? I pictured myself stumbling through the trees, a weird survival impulse at work, my body fleeing my own tyrannical desire to impress. My drunk self was like an embarrassing cousin I was responsible for
