As I wait for my friends to pick me up so we can go and get drunk three thousand kilometres away, I am compelled to think about the quintessential contemporary experience of being young in this time and age. There was a time when the world was separated not just by borders but also by different periods of time, by entire eras. Now, there is no common denominator better than a pint of beer, down to the same brands consumed everywhere. If marketing has any victories, it is this—global parity in some things. No longer do we tell our stories while keeping the location in mind. We only tell the year, and it all is understood. You might say my knack and, well, obsession to avoid mentioning names of places I visit fits like a glove over these days then. But, well, this is a play with an audience of one—the director. No matter how well I write these words, only a handful of people ever read them. All cards on the table, I do not believe, even for a second, that I am as adept at crafting them as I would like to be in the first place, so who reads what is a moot point anyway.
Now, the important thing for the next week is, of course, to keep writing regardless of how inebriated I am—it is never easy doing that. Not because the act of writing becomes difficult per se. With all the practice I have had in doing it, I can maintain grammar and spelling regardless of how much whiskey is in my system. It is difficult because, at that moment, you become convinced that doing anything is better than sitting and writing a few words. There are fewer things more brutal than this: to resist yourself. They say willpower comes with practice. I do not know about that. Each day I sit facing the screen, it seems like a battle I am fighting for the first time. Most days, I win, but if I said most victories come easy, I would be lying.