This must have been June of 1992. I was between routes, having finally done "Beyond Good and Evil" in April and been utterly wrung out by it. I was also working on the feature film "Pushing the Limits", in love with woman who wouldn't have me, and frustrated with weather and conditions in the mountains.
20 June and I am angry at everything; the weather because it's bad and has been for so long. I worked all day in Courmayeur. I have to test poorly designed climbing suits for a magazine review. I'll have to go to South America without seeing you again. I am certain to miss the good ice climbing conditions here in Chamonix once this weather changes. I threw my Walkman at the wall this afternoon. I want to break things.
Instead I went out, first to the Cantina then the Driver. I was going to have a few beers. Knowing better but doing it anyway, I bought Denis a shot of tequila. He bought a pair for Tad and I. The bartender offered a round and then Denis again. Michel showed up. We drank more tequila and by the time I left I was seeing double for the first time in my life. I have never ever been that smashed. I came home and forced myself to vomit. I threw up over and over, put on some music and passed out on my bed wearing my clothes. When I woke up at 1pm a shoe had come off. All of the lights were on. The music was loud, and one song repeating. I'll never listen to that Faith No More track again. Today everything is foggy and slow. I feel like shit. I'll feel like shit for a while.