Hangin’ In There

Head hurts like hell. It has before. A pain I know all too well. Hello Dark Stout, my old friend. You’ve fucked my Tuesday up again.

What is it about binge drinking that keeps people coming back? Addictive qualities of alcohol aside, I’ve never woken up after drinking 14 straight beers and thought “You know what? That was a good decision.” Usually, my thoughts are a lot closer to “Oh Jesus Fuck, what did I- BLORF.” Stand clear of the splash zone, ladies and gentlemen, first three rows might get wet.

Sorry about that.

Well, not really. I did warn you.

Eventually.

Even when I’m at the drinking stage (objectively the best part), it’s not necessarily a good time on its own. You know why we invented drinking games? Because just drinking is boring. It’s not an activity on its own. It’s, like, an activity garnish, an activity enhancer. It makes what you’re doing already slightly to incredibly more fun, depending.

Conversations? So much fun when you’re drunk. Everyone loves each other, and you can reveal deep dark secrets, because it doesn’t matter! Everyone’s gonna forget by the morning anyway. And if they don’t? Well, you were all drunk. Who cares?

Going for a walk sober? One of the worst things in the history of things. You could be sitting! Or even better, lying down! Both objectively superior to walking. It’s not even a competition. But going for a walk drunk off your tits? Sign me up, like, yesterday. A three hour walk home from the bar? A nightmare if you’re sober. An adventure if you’re drunk.

I guess maybe that’s what keeps people coming back. That feeling of invincibility. The freedom of the highs makes the crushing lows worth it. Or almost worth it, anyway.

Jesus, my fucking head. Why the fuck did the sun conspire with my blinds to cast a ray of light right square into my fucking eyes? Who’s responsible for this nightmare hell? The churning in my stomach, oh god, it’s- Ohhh come on, there’s nothing in there to-

Just a minute.

Oh here it comes…

Oh man, just get it over with already. It’s the waiting I hate the most.

Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on, come on…

Dammit.

False alarm I guess.

Well, anyway. Right now, I don’t know if the highs particularly offset the lows, but I’m sure I’ll forget that the next time someone hands me a beer and tells me to chug. As shitty as this feels, it all just blends together with the last time I felt this sh-BLERFGH.

Oh, come the FUCK on! Really? Now? There was… I didn’t even eat anything!

This fucking sucks, but you know what? Not even top three. Not even top ten, if I’m being honest. I mean, sure the room’s spinning, I just threw up all over my slippers, and my head feels like a gang of neglected centipedes are taking tap dance lessons from an instructor who’s, I’m just being honest, not very good at his job. But I’ve had worse.

At least this time I can stand up. And I know where I am. I think. This is my bed. Probably. And it’s 7:30 on a Tuesday mo- Oh shit, it’s 11:30 on a Tuesday morning. Okay. Might’ve missed my alarm.

Might be late for work.

Might be REALLY late for work.

And now I have to get there… very quickly… without… dying… on the TTC… Somehow.

Buddy, this one just shot up the list. Top seven now, easy.

Maybe top five.

Fuck me.