A nasty hangover is telling me, "Fool, I thought I told you not to drink so much. Now you gonna pay." (Don't ask me why my hangover sounds like Mr. T.)
Iím alive. Well yay, give me a pat on the back. Due to drilling construction ten feet outside my door, it feels like someone is trying to drive a dull iron spike into the back of my skull with a huge mallet, and what used to be mere colors and sounds are now interesting new species of pain, but hey, Iím still alive. I didn't choke on my own vomit. Small steps.
It feels like my teeth have itty bitty sweaters on them and my eyes look like one big vein. Dehydrated? Iíve had a gallon of water and a litre of diet coke - yet I haven't peed once. My body has lost the ability to generate saliva so my furry tongue is suffocating me. Iíd cry, but I donít have enough moisture in my body to generate tears.
Death seems pretty good right now.
You know honestly, it was only going to be a few quick drinks last night, but due to some warp in the space-time continuim (or abduction by aliens) I was still at the bar 6 hours later. Not having remembered the last 13 drinks, I felt surprised at my mouth's inability to form a coherent sentence, and my sense of balance had been greatly compromised.
After walking home and finding my long lost buddy, the toilet. I was lucky enough to remember to lift the lid. I sat there on the floor, cuddling the only friend in the world I had left (the toilet), tears streaming down my face, lying there cold and shivering. Not my proudest moment.
I am never drinking again.
Right now, I must try and concentrate on breathing . . . very, very gently
2002-07-29 at 11:59 a.m.