I like being drunk.
Not like in an "Oh let's drink our sorrows away and pretend the world doesn't exist" kind of way though.
More in a way like tonight, when we were driving home, and I was wedged in the backseat between a bass amp and a guitar. In the passenger seat, you stuck your arm out the window and had your hand flat, horizontal against the wind, then palm up, pressing forward, alternating with your fingers splayed, feeling the air slip into the pits where your digits join - that place that all too often goes untouched and unfelt.
It reminded me of being a child on long drives with my father through the rural inbetweens of Australia.
When bored, I would wind the window down and stick my bony arm out against the pressure of the wind, and feel the bend of my elbow restrict against the rush; one hundred and twenty kilometres per hour down some indstinct motorway.
I guess that's what I mean when I say I like being drunk.
It's like going somewhere you don't know, and feeling something that you don't feel.