A precise, and concise, description from Joseph Roth, in The Radetzky March, of how it feels to be drunk:

Lieutenant Trotta did not budge.  He could remember that his father had recently arrived, and he understood that it wasn’t this father, but a whole bunch of fathers that were standing in front of him.  But he was unable to recall either why his father had come today, or why he was multiplying so extremely, or yet why he, the Lieutenant, was unable to stand up.