When I woke up this morning, my pillow was soaking wet. It was covered with smudges, too. On account of my rotting teeth, there was a bit of blood in my saliva, which made the smudges both ugly and smelly. Well, putrid. And I changed the pillowcase only yesterday! As I was stretching it to dry by the open window, a straightforward question formed in my mind: when did I start drooling? Without much ado, I went for my Residua website on the World Wide Web. “Drooling,” I typed into the search box. And I found the first piece dedicated to this wretched subject a few seconds later (“Drooling,” May 6, 2004). According to this piece, which was extended by an addendum three years ago, I must have started drooling between fifteen and twenty years ago. I must have been in my mid-fifties at the time. By now, it is a standard feature of my sleep. There is hardly a night when I do not drool. Which is why I must change my pillowcases ever more often, and especially when my beloved is with me. Not to beat around the bush, they stink of fucking old age. Yuckety yuck…