And so I sipped my one glass of red wine.  Just one.  And I let it roll along the sandpaper of my tongue.  And the wine was better this way.  Tiny sips.  And it floated through my bloodstream like a warm front.  And it would not be an overstatement to say this felt like the very point of existence.  To savor each moment.

Then I ordered another glass.

— Sarah Hepola, Blackout: Remembering the Things I Drank to Forget