If my body is my temple, then I’ve ransacked it for all its wealth and splendor and smeared filth on the walls. Last night, I did something terrible, something inexcusable, something untoward and deplorable. Last night, some friends and I. . . played Monopoly. Naturally, the only way to react to the trappings of a capitalist system is to drink copious amounts of cheap beer and rum and to shout “water is an ingredient” anytime someone suggested I should hydrate.
I got filthy drunk and played Monopoly on a Wednesday night. I don’t know why my mistake was especially awful because it was a Wednesday, but the Wednesday-ness undoubtedly made everything worse. Now, it is Thursday because days have this awful knack of going one after the other. Chronology is not my friend.
I’m a teacher–something I forgot last night while shotgunning beers in my backyard. Students go to school on Thursdays–something I wish wasn’t true. I, a teacher, had to talk about responsibility, critical thinking, and healthy life habits while enjoying the feeling of a train wrapped in barbed wire and airhorns tearing through the meaty parts of my head. One student asked for an extension on a paper. I gave it to him because the thought of putting in the cognitive strain to say no was more painful than just giving him anything he wanted. I was so weak. More asked for extensions. I gave one to anyone who asked. They saw my frailty and exploited it. They would be amazing at Monopoly.
The kids had a field trip today. My presence was required for about half an hour, and I don’t think I could have gone for any longer. I am weak, and though I logically know the floor of my classroom is not the deck of a small fishing boat caught in a hurricane, that is definitely what it felt like. My mouth always tastes like pumpkin when I’m hungover. I answered questions about the most recent essay I assigned and was more preoccupied with the harvest festival in my mouth than anything else. My past self was looking out for me today. If I hadn’t assigned such a simple paper, I absolutely would not have been able to answer my students’ questions. Questions require answers, and answers are hard to find when your brain is a tangle of old hot oranges, poison, and drooling bees.
I do not know if I will survive the day. I’m writing this while considering the merits of skydiving without a parachute. I did this to myself by drinking enough poison that I forgot it was poison, and then I had more. I would be a terrible life coach.
I’m lucky that my students don’t need me today, and maybe I planned for that last night. I don’t remember anything other robbing the Monopoly bank every time I thought I could get away with it. I’m lucky they’re all off learning about engineering or the environment or climate change or something–I can’t remember what this field trip is for. All I remember is drunkenly complaining to my cat about weird verbs these kids use in their essays. All I can hope for now is that by tomorrow this poison will have passed from my body and death will have long since taken me.