Yes, it can be awesome fun. You talk, dance, sing, make friends and don't even care what other people think. You get to be the most extroverted extrovert with out even trying. When you are drunk, no matter what you do, it's awesome. You have never danced so well. Your should have a record deal because, who else can sing as well as you? You are the next Beyonce or Beiber or whoever makes the most money. There are no strangers when you are drunk, everyone is your best friend. Everyone loves you and you love everyone no matter who they are. Let's face it, life is pretty awesome for those few hours that you are drunk. And the drunker you get, the more alcohol you want. No amount of alcohol is too much. You can never have too many shots and there is no one that can beat you in a drinking contest and if they do, you just demand a rematch until you win.
But then you get tired. Then you think, "Oh, I have work tomorrow." The high that the alcohol had you on starts to wear off. Instead of showing everyone your interpretive dance moves to Someone Like You, you decicde to sit down. Before you realise it, you are lying down. Then you realise how thirsty you are and how much you want water and now that you think about it, you haven't had any water the entire night but you are too tired and you just got comfortable on the hard tiled floor. So you let yourself slump down and then the world starts spinning. You brain seems to have got up and left you. I'ts so annoyed at you that it has abandoned you to let you face the alcohol on your own.
Then your stomach starts to churn and you have another realisation that you haven't had much to eat during the night. All that is in your stomach is liquid. Then you realise that you don't feel so good and another thing hits you, that the world should not be spinning (it takes you longer than normal because your brain left you, remember). Then another realisation, your body wants all the alcohol to come out of your stomach. And fastest way is the way it came in. You attempt to get up. You half manage but it's an awkward sight to look at. You make a bet with yourself over whether you can make it to the toilet. When you don't make it to the toilet you are overjoyed that you won the bet. It's a short lived victory because along comes another realisation, when you make a bet with yourself and you bet against yourself, you still lose.
So having not made it to the toilet, you look for anything else you can find that isn't the floor, you manage to find a pot plant, or something that you think is a pot plant. Then it's over and you feel sort of okay and you attempt to look for somewhere to rest your head a bit while you wait for yourself to feel a little better, but at this point, the floor is looking so attractive that you just have to lie on it. It would be a crime not to lie on that ridiculously good looking floor. You decide that the floor is your best friend and you whisper sweet nothings to it as you slowly fall into what you think will be the best sleep you have ever had. Before too long, the dream you are having starts to swim and then your stomach feels funny again and you are running faster than you think Usain Bolt has ever run in his life to get to the toilet. You don't make it. Now that you think about it, you didn't actually make it to your feet. You got as far as your knees, shuffled forward a bit and then fell sprawling on that ridiculously good looking floor... But at least there was something that resembled an old pizza box. When you are able to sit up again, you have a good think and realise that this isn't you house, you don't really know where you are and you actually have no idea where the toilet in this place is. You crawl a few more metres and pass out from this overly strenuous exercise.
Your world is still spinning a lot. Your dreams are quite disturbed. Your mouth is really dry and your brain wants to come back but it is torn between its loyalty to you and its desire not to be around while you are suffering from alcohol absorption. Your stomach also considering leaving you but it was too ill to move.
You wake up. It's light outside. You look around the bedroom you expected that you were in and realise that it is just a hallway, You wonder who spilt all that liquid on the ground behind you. You breathe through your nose. It's definitely not just any liquid. You feel your head and your stomach and a little bit of the night before comes back to you, the part where you couldn't find a toilet fast enough to have something to empty your stomach into. Crap. You try to get up but your head is killing you and the slightest movement makes it feel like your head is going to fall off and that your already empty stomach wants to be emptied further. Too late, you smell the other residents of the house cooking toast.
You wonder what in the hell happened last night. Whose party was it? Whose house are you in? Do you even know the people? Did you come with anyone or did you go on your own? What were you even drinking? Were you really that awesome at dancing or was that in your dream? You don't remember it, but your brain left you so none of these questions get answered. Then your muscles give up on you. You can't move any further, for the whole day. You decide that this is the most comfortable floor you have ever encountered and you don't need to move. For anyone or for anything. Why would you move? This floor is so ridiculously good looking. And your head slumps slowly downward.
Then someone shakes you. "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
I don't quite understand how people enjoy the feeling after a big night. I would prefer never to drink again rather than have to feel that hungover that I couldn't do anything. I don't know if the fun of the night would ever outweigh having to feel that awful in the morning. I just do not think it is justified. I do not understand. My above situation may be over the top but then again it may not be. All I have to say is WHY? Why do it to yourselves people?
No comments:
Post a Comment