I am speaking of my HANGOVER. My brain is throbbing.
Why do I do it to myself?
Well, I don’t do it very often to be fair. I’m past the happy young days when the hangovers were worth the nights out, and, additionally, I have my boring health condition to think of, which makes my recovery time considerably more than it should be.
Have you ever had the first inkling of a hangover, that point where you haven’t quite gone into full-blown detox mode? It’s a sense of foreboding for the pain that will inevitably follow. I can feel the throat tense, the head starting to pound and the dismay that I didn’t make myself drink a quota of water before I passed out. Oh dear!
It was a house-warming. I went out because I haven’t been out in a while, but it’s the curse of going out to a place where the people there are friendly, but not friends, if you know what I mean. You get an invite because you are tangentially connected to someone, rather than because it’s your bosom buddies. That’s the problem, though. I don’t have any bosom buddies, so I either go out with less-than-bosom-buddies or I don’t go out. I often choose the latter, but sometimes it’s like Jeez, I have to get out.
I should adjust my statement that I have no bosom buddies. I have two or three good friends, but I don’t see them too often because they have work and other stuff going on.
Anyway, the first pangs of crap, I am going to feel like death! have set in. In some ways it’s a vicious circle because I wanted to get wasted, so that I would temporarily feel nothing, and also as a kind of self-abuse, and the hangover is a completely expected result. Yet I, as always, get sucked into the cycle of excess-reproach-guilt.
I hate myself right now. Logically, I know that people at that party wouldn’t have hated me, but I have the whole projection thing going on. I’m a chore for people around me, people talk to me out of pity etc. And it goes on…
I’ll try to nip that pointless self-reproach in the bud; after all, I didn’t puke until I got home – I think that was very civilized of me. Invite me to your house-warming, coz I don’t puke ’til I’m face to face with my own toilet bowl. A unique selling point, no?
Right, lying down now. Memory of cheap vodka getting too much. Hope anyone reading this is feeling less rough than I…