Saturday night thoughts

By Amy Gutman, from Annex Galleries

Alcohol affects different people differently.  Some have said that it allows the real you to show, so if you become violent, it's because you are violent, really, and alcohol has just removed your inhibitions.  If you are a morose drunk, that is the real you, they say.  If depressed and lachrymose, well, you're just letting your hair down.

For the last many months I haven't been drinking.  My body just kept sending too many signals to me that it was bad for me.  But it was good for my spirit.  It made me happy, usually, and (but only occasionally) melancholy sometimes.

It's been a beautiful spring day, today, but I've had a headache all day.  I seem to have a headache every Saturday.  Maybe it's a reaction to my workweek.  I don't know.  Even now, at 8.30 on Saturday evening, I'm still headachey.

Of course, we never have visitors any more, except on red letter days, our children.  And we seldom go out at night--too tired, too poor.

And my mild depression makes me unable to write.  So I will be watching Miss Marple, and drinking a mug of warm soy milk, and hobbling on my stick to and from the kitchen.  When did I become an old man?

Anyway, gentle readers, môre is nog 'n dag.  Tomorrow is another day.