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well I hope I was interesting

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Last night I went to a house party thrown by my second cousin, Ann. I don't really know that whole branch of the family terribly well, having spent a fair chunk of my life thousands of kilometres from them all.

Anyway, I had been looking forward to it for some time (anyone who's read a couple of entries from this journal knows that I've been laying low, these last few.. uh.. years). I turned up reasonably early, and went about reacquiainting myself with various 'rellies' as they're called down in Australia.

Then one of Ann's friends asked 'who wants to join me for some Tequila?' Well, I had a really good time, but proceded to drink pretty much anything I was handed or could help myself to.

Five hours of heavy drinking and loud and at times ill-advised conversation later, and I finally hit that point. That point when people are looking at you worriedly and speaking of you in the third person. It's a sensation not unlike when you're bobbing in the ocean and the waves lap over you and your vision goes wobbly from the sea water. I took it as my cue to go (it was 1:30).

I met some interesting people. I hope I was as interesting as I seemed to feel I was.