One Last Bender, Part 1

Today is my birthday; I have not had one in years. Tonight I will go out and drink. In my house I have several bottles of absinthe and vodka that henceforth will be useless to me. I look forward to absorbing their magic.

This will be my final bender. Attempts at grandiosity typically fall flat, but I cannot help feel there is something in the air, and of course one does not need luck to make a bender grandiose: one simply drinks more. As an experienced user, I know well the stages of drunkenness--there are nine, possibly 10, depending on what follows an accidental suicide. I have no intention of exceeding level 7, but I do want to get there.

I have hired Natasha to accompany me. We have agreed upon a reasonable flat rate. I know her quite well and even consider her a friend. I have selected an intimate party for us to crash.

Looking around, I find the emptiness of my rooms thrilling but can't help feeling like a ghost when I reach for things that are not there. I have sold my Inspiron and purchased a lovely new ultraportable that seems more than a robot friend.

Heightenedly yours, whoever you are,

Nigel Tewksbury

Cleaning Up

I've been cleaning, selling, and burning all my things. Myoki's broken-English letters turn orange then black then air; my finest clothes, tailored precisely to my sleek form, now move amidst the idiot crowds on the back of parrot poseurs. And, yet, it's all alright.

Yesterday I wore a pair of 501s and a sports shirt--I even tried on a smile--and I looked bloody good and not at all common. I felt natural and there is nothing stranger. I'm sure it's like anything and I'll get used to it in time.

It's an administrative nightmare, but I plan to change my name to match my new style and voice. I am planning one last bender--a big one--but have no plans after that but to move. Come all ye false dandies and follow me into the wild night! Wear your most casual clothes! I dare you! Just know that if you do I'll immediately drop you all like a tonne of bricks.

I am not here, I am not gone, I am not Nigel Tewksbury. Occasionally I hear him still, his measured, melifluous voice calling me and telling me what to do and say--and there is no denying the sheer magnitude of his awesomeness--but it's time for him to die and leave this house behind.

Nasal Irrigation

It is with great shame that I make this confession: I am an animal. As such, I have certain biological problems, and one of them is the occasionally runny nose. It was under the recommendation of a strange woman friend of mine that I began the practice of nasal irrigation. She informed me that I will reap many rewards, including lowering the incidence of snoticles, a strange phenomenon no doubt familiar to my Nordic readers in which the mucus of the nose freezes and forms an uncomfortable crystalline landscape of the interior--a nasal Narnia, if you will, but without all the magic and creatures. In the mode of a ruggedly handsome shaman, I would like to pass the technique onto you, my dear readers:

You squirt water up your nose.

The supposed benefits of this practice are numerous and include:

- The treatment of Empty Nose Syndrome, which, I have been told, is not as funny as it sounds.
- The treatment of Phantosmia, or, "phantom smells"--indeed, just the other day I thought I smelled a lovely roast, but alas, it was but thin air. I have recorded no such experiences since beginning treatment.
- Providing clearer vision.
- Improving one's sinus-related quality of life (which, for me, is essential in preventing suicide).

I recommend you try it as it is important to keep up with the latest hygienic trends.