I sit in the BART station and my eyes glaze over like I am in a trance. I begin to fall asleep, but not the kind of sleep where you can’t keep your eyes open, the weird kind of sleep like you have been drugged and it just slowly fades you out, and I think that maybe it is the alcohol but I can’t be for sure. I only had one drink. I sink into these moments, I feel someone’s gaze and give them a hard stare, I put the card through the slot at the BART machine, I pick up my bike, feel a little pain my wrist, and walk up to the city, or walk up to Berkeley, I can’t be sure which, because I have been sunken in. There is a piece of paper with all important information written on it, the number of friend x‘s work and the direction to the club where friend y will be playing, the number at friend x’s home in case I decide that I cannot handle going to this party she wants me to go to with her. I am on autopilot and I cannot remember where i put this piece of paper that would conveniently be in a location that would make it much easier for me to remember where it is. And I am late, I have put on my mascara and my lipstick and done my hair and I am late, and I want to just take the bus, but there is no time and I am not for sure where the bar is in san Francisco, and so I just walk out the door casually but can’t exactly grasp how I feel or what I am doing. I am biking suddenly and conscious of it. This is me, my body, biking right now, and then I slide in again, sink in, underneath where I don’t remember anything but the thoughts in my head. Yet, somehow, I negotiate the road and the car doors that could open on me, I am conscious of something, and I can check street signs for clay street. I know that polk will cross clay up on the hill and that that will be where friend y will be and she will be instantly awkward when I walk in and that will be strange and set me ill at ease, although I would have already been ill at ease, or not at ease, or pretending to be at ease, or completely unaware of any ease or lack of ease. I am creating writing in my head as I live my life, I am writing about it from an objectively foggy standpoint, and then I suddenly become conscious that I am living it, and I am not sure how I feel about it, or in what order it occurs.