Mom kept on stressing that red wine is phenomenal when you have slabs of cheese to munch on. You bring out the tupperware she keeps in the fridge containing thin slices of queso de bola, and then you sneak out the bottle of chilled sweet wine as well. Pour it halfway, then tip your glass around, just to watch the liquid slosh around for no other purpose than to forget about the world. You nibble slowly on a piece, as if to force it to melt on your mouth, and then you sip. Refill to your heart’s content, or at least until it becomes obvious that you have been drinking since the bottle’s now almost empty. Lose the words you have been tossing around in your head this afternoon on your bus ride home. Try to lose the haunting thoughts, deem them pointless now. Plan on collapsing on your bed and wrapping your comforter around yourself until you resemble a burrito upon reaching your bedroom. Decide that sleeping is better than intensifying your mild alcoholism. Know with a frightening sense of certainty that this is, after all, for the best.