A Night When the Drink Goes Down Better Than the Book

1. A night when I was full of intention to read
I stand in front of the bookshelf while preparing my evening drink. I'll read this tonight. I decide, take the paperback in my hand, and place it on the desk. The bookmark is exactly where I left off last time. There are about a hundred pages left. That's perfect. This is just the right amount to read while having a drink or two.
I take a can of beer out of the refrigerator. It's not even worth pouring into a glass. On days like this, drinking straight from the can is easy and nice.
Outside the window, insects have started to chirp. I turned off the TV. The house is quiet. I didn't meet anyone today. Nothing special happened. But on days like that, when there's nothing, I find myself longing for a drink and a book.
I sit in my chair and open the book. Then, a sip of beer.
—At this point, I was certainly full of intention to read.
I read the first few lines. Not bad. It seems interesting. I take another sip. I follow the text with my eyes again.
Then, this time, I remember something that happened during the day. Should I have returned that phone call? How will that matter turn out next week?
As you get older, strangely enough, you find yourself thinking more while reading. When I was young, I could dive straight into the world of a book. However, after passing fifty, reality is always present in the corner of my mind.
Family matters. Work. My health. The future. Things like that are drinking away in my head, just like regulars at a small pub.
In the meantime, I take another sip of my drink. Before I know it, I haven't advanced a single page. Well, days like this happen. No one is rushing me. The book won't run away. The drink won't run away. The only thing that runs away is time.
But since I'm drinking to enjoy that time, that's fine.

2. A night when the drink speaks more than the book
There are strange nights. Nights when the drink is more eloquent than the book. Even though I started reading, the drink enters my heart before the words do. I make a second drink. The ice clinks. Just that sound makes me feel a little better.
Alcohol has the power to untangle emotions that cannot be put into words. Things that made me happy. Things that made me angry. Things that made me feel a little lonely. Things I never told anyone. It quietly dissolves those kinds of things.
Books make you think. Alcohol makes you forget.
Of course, I haven't really forgotten. It just takes the weight off my shoulders for a while.
So, a night spent reading while drinking might actually be a time where reading and resting are happening simultaneously. Although, there are nights when the ratio is ninety percent drink and ten percent book. Tonight is exactly one of those.
I suddenly realize. I've only advanced a few pages. In the past, I might have thought it was a waste. Since I went to the trouble of opening the book, I should read more. There was a time when I thought like that.
But now, it's different. A night where the bookmark doesn't move isn't bad either. The amount of book read and whether it was a good night are two different things. I drink while looking at the page I'm in the middle of reading. That time itself is a luxury.
The luxury of my youth was going far away. It was buying expensive things. As I've aged, the form of luxury has changed. A quiet night. A favorite drink. A book in progress. Time undisturbed by anyone. If I have all this, it's enough. No, it's more than enough.
The fact that the bookmark doesn't move is not proof that I wasted time. Perhaps it is proof that I am savoring a life that doesn't rush.

3. The boundary between intoxication and reading
Reading a book while drinking. It's a truly enjoyable time. However, there is a problem. If I drink too much, I don't remember the content.
Isn't this a common experience for readers? The next morning, I open the book. Even though the page looks familiar, the content hasn't entered my head.
Huh? Did I read this? No, I must have. The bookmark has moved. But my memory hasn't. In the end, I read the same part over and over. If you only think about efficiency, it might be a waste. But strangely, I don't dislike it.
Reading a favorite book while drinking a favorite drink. Even if half the content flies away, if that night was enjoyable, that's enough.
Reading is not an exam. I'm not writing a book report. It's a hobby to enrich the margins of life.
A night when the drink goes down better than the book. At first glance, it might seem like a failed night. But is that really the case?
In life, there are nights for reading and nights for drinking. There are nights for deep thinking and nights for not thinking at all.
Humans are not machines. We can't concentrate the same way every day. So, it's okay to have nights when the book doesn't progress. It's okay to have nights when only the drink progresses. By stacking up nights like that, people grow older little by little.
Before I knew it, even if the amount of alcohol decreased, the time spent drinking became deeper. Even if the speed of reading slowed down, my relationship with books became longer.
Ways of enjoying things I didn't understand when I was young increase with age. That's not bad either. No, rather than not bad, isn't it quite a luxurious way to live?
Tonight, too, the ice in my glass clinks softly. The book remains open on the desk. The pages have hardly moved. But strangely, I feel fulfilled.
There are nights like that. No, for adults, nights like that are necessary.