Drank a bit too quickly this evening. Found myself in the lounge room wondering what that thing on the floor was. It was the smoke alarm on the ceiling. It's been a while since I last had to, but in such situations it's frighteningly easy to marshal my senses and regain composure. That's the result of a brain and a body honed by a lifetime of anglo-typical psychological self-repression; nothing to brag about. My poor liver might disagree, but I've never _really_ been out of control in my life, for which I am in equal measure regretful and thankful.