Woke up, the clock said 10:58. Dark outside, that means pm. One of my cats, Kasimir, was sleeping next to me, but I didn't see Mordecai. A few days ago, I passed out while they were outside, and it's really too cold for that -- Kasimir got a bit of frostbite, or at least a "chapped nose", cracked and bleeding (it's healed fine, thankfully). Don't want to repeat that irresponsibility, so I got up to look for Mordecai.
On the way out of the bedroom, I noticed that there's most of a twelve-pack left. Strange. Oh yeah, I was finishing off the rum. Went to the store when that was running low, around 7 o'clock. That was only four hours before, no wonder I still felt drunk.
Mordecai was safely sleeping in the living room. Drank some V8 (replenish those electrolytes) and crawled back into bed, into the narrow space beside the mound of clean clothes. I have a system: clean clothes on the bed, dirty clothes on the floor. Couldn't sleep. Lay there with nothing-thoughts running through my head, as the drunkenness gradually faded towards hangover. Eventually I got up, took some Advil, and played my computer game until it was light out and I was tired enough to sleep.
Woke up, 1:20 and light out. Afternoon. Looks like I'll be taking another vacation day at work. Been a lot of those lately. Maybe I've used them all up, and they'll start coming out of my paycheck as unpaid leave. I don't know. Still seven beers from that twelve-pack, and I lay there thinking about them for a long time. But I need to quit this. It's slowly killing me.
Eventually I got up, opened them, and poured them down the bathroom sink. I quit. Again. It's a shame, too, good beer -- Long Trail's amber ale. But not good for me beer, there's no such thing anymore. Put the empties back in their box, and added it to the Wall of Shame. (Since my car stopped running last summer, it's been inconvenient to return bottles. So they've been building up against one wall of my bedroom. Now six twelve-packs wide, seven tall, and two deep, though the second rank isn't quite done. Perhaps 75 twelve-packs, 900 empties. My Wall of Shame.)
Took my supplements, went to Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and a breakfast sandwich, now I'm here. Wish me strength.
peace,
lilnev
On the way out of the bedroom, I noticed that there's most of a twelve-pack left. Strange. Oh yeah, I was finishing off the rum. Went to the store when that was running low, around 7 o'clock. That was only four hours before, no wonder I still felt drunk.
Mordecai was safely sleeping in the living room. Drank some V8 (replenish those electrolytes) and crawled back into bed, into the narrow space beside the mound of clean clothes. I have a system: clean clothes on the bed, dirty clothes on the floor. Couldn't sleep. Lay there with nothing-thoughts running through my head, as the drunkenness gradually faded towards hangover. Eventually I got up, took some Advil, and played my computer game until it was light out and I was tired enough to sleep.
Woke up, 1:20 and light out. Afternoon. Looks like I'll be taking another vacation day at work. Been a lot of those lately. Maybe I've used them all up, and they'll start coming out of my paycheck as unpaid leave. I don't know. Still seven beers from that twelve-pack, and I lay there thinking about them for a long time. But I need to quit this. It's slowly killing me.
Eventually I got up, opened them, and poured them down the bathroom sink. I quit. Again. It's a shame, too, good beer -- Long Trail's amber ale. But not good for me beer, there's no such thing anymore. Put the empties back in their box, and added it to the Wall of Shame. (Since my car stopped running last summer, it's been inconvenient to return bottles. So they've been building up against one wall of my bedroom. Now six twelve-packs wide, seven tall, and two deep, though the second rank isn't quite done. Perhaps 75 twelve-packs, 900 empties. My Wall of Shame.)
Took my supplements, went to Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and a breakfast sandwich, now I'm here. Wish me strength.
peace,
lilnev
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