I dried out for two weeks, and then I decided to have a glass of wine. It tasted good.
The next afternoon, after a long and mule-ish slog-jog in the rain/slush/wind, I consented to a cup of spiced hot rum before descending into a hot tub.
Bad, bad idea.
I had a headache the rest of the day, and I started to feel like a first-class chump for trading in my coarse vestment for a cheesy polyester tank top that made my neck and shoulders ache. (Don't ask me why, but drinking makes my body ache.)
So now I am once again trading the waters of life for pomegranate juice spritzers, Knudsen's sparkling sodas, or, best choice of all, calorie-free aqua puree.
* * * * * * * *
If you don't know Perillo's work, you are truly missing out on some powerful medicine is all I can say. She is smart; she is funny; she is brilliant. Her poems are musical, and strange, and risky. And did I say she was funny? And wise? And oh so very smart?
If I am not careful, I start to think I can write like her, do a decent imitation of her, or okay, sometimes I downright steal from her--which is probably the biggest compliment of all, right?
Anyway, if you have time and a little money to burn: GO. You will not regret it.