Waist deep in the muck.
Waist deep in the muck.
It’s hard to describe the first waking moments the morning after a black out. At first there’s a surge of energy and not a tinge of hangover I always feel rested and nightmare free. Then the “oh shit” dread starts to crawl it’s way up my spine. I start by thinking of myself first like any defective human. I dash out front to check on my car. If it’s there and all tires and dents are accounted for the initial fear subsides a bit. (Once it took all of a day to finally find my car, only to discover both the passenger side tires had been torn off and I ditched it in a yard across the street from a schoolyard) Then it’s on to my possessions. Hat, coat, satchel, music, all have been regularly discarded during a good row. I think in the past year or so I have lost at least 4 or 5 coats all very distinctive. Who knows where they end up? Once I woke up in the living room of my house clothed only in boxers it took a few hours and a friend to point out that everything I wore the night prior was up on my roof. If all is accounted for I start in on my pockets checking for credit card slips and the amount of cash left over. Some nights this gives me no clues, I’ve even ended the night up over 400 bucks once but that’s a story for another time or flat broke. Then the waiting begins, this is the worst part of the whole experience, the wait next to the phone to see just how bad it was, who did I piss off? What bar was I thrown out of, and asked never to return? What ill-conceived plan backfired, whose car did I try to steal? Who’s friends did I slovenly try to pick up on? What blunder of the mouth did I commit? Fights go without saying I’m always sure there were one or two depending on whom I was hanging out with. Back in the day I had the the sober guy to run with and catalog my errors for reflection the next day or whenever I snapped out of my binge. once it lasted over a month and I still have no clue how I drank that much time and money away, but he’s long grown tired of the chaos that is my life. The Chef just fuels the mayhem, and what’s worse, if the drink flows too fast we end up fighting each other. All of this sounds ridiculous to repeat week after week month after month but what’s the alternative? Nightmares, despair, lethargy, and a general lack of caring. If I stay sober too long the ghosts start piling up and the nightmares become unbearable. Until someone devises an instant lobotomy kit or pill I’m on the train for some time to come. Buy me a beer I’ll tell you a good story if my memory holds on until the morning.
It’s hard to describe the first waking moments the morning after a black out. At first there’s a surge of energy and not a tinge of hangover I always feel rested and nightmare free. Then the “oh shit” dread starts to crawl it’s way up my spine. I start by thinking of myself first like any defective human. I dash out front to check on my car. If it’s there and all tires and dents are accounted for the initial fear subsides a bit. (Once it took all of a day to finally find my car, only to discover both the passenger side tires had been torn off and I ditched it in a yard across the street from a schoolyard) Then it’s on to my possessions. Hat, coat, satchel, music, all have been regularly discarded during a good row. I think in the past year or so I have lost at least 4 or 5 coats all very distinctive. Who knows where they end up? Once I woke up in the living room of my house clothed only in boxers it took a few hours and a friend to point out that everything I wore the night prior was up on my roof. If all is accounted for I start in on my pockets checking for credit card slips and the amount of cash left over. Some nights this gives me no clues, I’ve even ended the night up over 400 bucks once but that’s a story for another time or flat broke. Then the waiting begins, this is the worst part of the whole experience, the wait next to the phone to see just how bad it was, who did I piss off? What bar was I thrown out of, and asked never to return? What ill-conceived plan backfired, whose car did I try to steal? Who’s friends did I slovenly try to pick up on? What blunder of the mouth did I commit? Fights go without saying I’m always sure there were one or two depending on whom I was hanging out with. Back in the day I had the the sober guy to run with and catalog my errors for reflection the next day or whenever I snapped out of my binge. once it lasted over a month and I still have no clue how I drank that much time and money away, but he’s long grown tired of the chaos that is my life. The Chef just fuels the mayhem, and what’s worse, if the drink flows too fast we end up fighting each other. All of this sounds ridiculous to repeat week after week month after month but what’s the alternative? Nightmares, despair, lethargy, and a general lack of caring. If I stay sober too long the ghosts start piling up and the nightmares become unbearable. Until someone devises an instant lobotomy kit or pill I’m on the train for some time to come. Buy me a beer I’ll tell you a good story if my memory holds on until the morning.