If you've read much Coleridge or the writings of many of his contemporaries, you'll know that writing in altered states of mind--particularly those induced by opium--was part and parcel of the literary scene at the time. Now, I've never been into the drug scene, but I have noticed that alcohol occasionally has some interesting effects on the associative pathways down which my thoughts frequently travel. My friends typically think of me as having a quick wit (if an occasionally slow sense of propriety or judgement). While I won't say that this is dimmed by a few too many bends of the elbow, what I will comment on is the occasional oddness of the thoughts that occur to me.

For instance, when I'm at dinner with a group of friends and am enjoying a few bottles of wine with them, and I step away to take care of business, I am often struck by a sudden random thought. This evening, during dinner with friends, after a few drinks I stepped out to take the air for a few moments when the following came to mind out of the blue:

Each day is precious; how lamentable it is that we spend whole days in succession in yearning for some fixed date or event in the future! We miss the pleasure of living during days given over to anticipation. Will it be those kinds of days that we regret at the end of the line? Why not live each day now to the absolute fullest?

So why does it take a few drinks to face this kind of truth? What do a few single-malt scotches dislodge from the recesses of my heart and mind? What revelatory power does a well-hopped ale have? Why do I, in the absence of a reflective drink, sometimes skim the surface of life for ages? This is of course not to say that one must drink to know truth; in fact, even in the middle of such mental digressions I remember how much better it is to be sober than clouded in my judgement. And yet...there is truth in these thoughts, and key truths at that. It's as if a few good beers enable me to approach the same life issues from a new angle, and in so doing to see things anew altogether and to find new or forgotten priorities. I remember things I'd forgotten for a decade or more: the smell of something, a phrase a high school friend used to use, the feel of acceleration in a particular car, or the sense of homeliness of being in a particular kitchen. Some kind of synaptic memory is released in these moments.

And sometimes, I just remember that I'd forgotten to do something important, like pay rent on time.