God Takes A Shot At Peter
A few weeks ago I woke up in a world of pain. My tongue was welded to the top of my mouth and the effort of tearing it free left me too weary to move. I remembered being pretty drunk, buying shooters at around midnight, then deciding to take it easy on such a "school night". The traditional fade to black was all that followed in my tattered memory.
Further pain clamoured for my attention. My right eye felt like someone had tried to put a cigarette out on it. This is not an experience I am new to, having managed this retard trick in the past. Blinking only exacerbated the problem. I resolved to lie still and try to take stock of the situation.
Opening my left eye revealed that all was not well and that I was unlikely to be popping into work that day. I could see (and feel) that I was fully dressed. I could also see (and feel) a pool of vomit on the bed next to my face, extending off the side and (I assumed) extending downwards to the floor.
The vomit started approximately where my face ended, allowing me to trace the cause of my ocular issues. I hadn't moved since I hit the bed in a happy drunken stupor. I had however, vomited where I lay and then slept with my eye happily dissolving in stomach acid and vodka.
I stumbled out of my room to discuss my sudden illness with the office. A short conversation later I returned, half-blind and two-thirds nauseous, to assess the damage to my room. I quickly realised that the puke decorating one side of my bed should in no way interrupt the extended period of sleep not going to work had provided me with. The other side of the bed, after all, was fine.
An enjoyable rest later, I arose around midday. My eye was still far from optimal; indeed opening it was far from a wise move. Surveying my room revealed another disturbing piece of my previous stomach contents - this one on the floor next to my bed. This was no surprise. What did concern me was the portion of my drinks which had landed on the four way power adapter next to my bed.
Every recovering alcoholic will tell you of the moment when they realised that things had to change. Whether it's stealing from their children for booze money, waking up missing a kidney, or just finding a dead tramp in your bed, every quitter can share their unique story of avoiding the alcohol event horizon.
For me, a near Jimi experience, almost choking to death on my own, or anyone else's puke, isn't nearly enough. I made my commitment to a (short) lifetime of drinking many years ago and I'm not backing down like a little girl over something like this. The same can be said of returning to a bed filled with chunder. After all, I'd already spent much of the night with the bed in this state - it's not that big a deal to continue doing so.
However, nearly electrocuting myself using vomit as a conductor is a different story. I can't face going out like that. I've decided to take much needed action and straighten a few things out. It's time for change and my eyes are open as to the way forward. Yes, that's right. I've unplugged the power adapter. Who the fuck needs an alarm clock and bedside lamp when they're too drunk to read anyways?
Fuck the "point of no return", fuck the so called "moment of clarity". Fuck "turning my life around", fuck "straightening up" and even fuck "flying right". I'll let you know what's on the other side when I get there.
Further pain clamoured for my attention. My right eye felt like someone had tried to put a cigarette out on it. This is not an experience I am new to, having managed this retard trick in the past. Blinking only exacerbated the problem. I resolved to lie still and try to take stock of the situation.
Opening my left eye revealed that all was not well and that I was unlikely to be popping into work that day. I could see (and feel) that I was fully dressed. I could also see (and feel) a pool of vomit on the bed next to my face, extending off the side and (I assumed) extending downwards to the floor.
The vomit started approximately where my face ended, allowing me to trace the cause of my ocular issues. I hadn't moved since I hit the bed in a happy drunken stupor. I had however, vomited where I lay and then slept with my eye happily dissolving in stomach acid and vodka.
I stumbled out of my room to discuss my sudden illness with the office. A short conversation later I returned, half-blind and two-thirds nauseous, to assess the damage to my room. I quickly realised that the puke decorating one side of my bed should in no way interrupt the extended period of sleep not going to work had provided me with. The other side of the bed, after all, was fine.
An enjoyable rest later, I arose around midday. My eye was still far from optimal; indeed opening it was far from a wise move. Surveying my room revealed another disturbing piece of my previous stomach contents - this one on the floor next to my bed. This was no surprise. What did concern me was the portion of my drinks which had landed on the four way power adapter next to my bed.
Every recovering alcoholic will tell you of the moment when they realised that things had to change. Whether it's stealing from their children for booze money, waking up missing a kidney, or just finding a dead tramp in your bed, every quitter can share their unique story of avoiding the alcohol event horizon.
For me, a near Jimi experience, almost choking to death on my own, or anyone else's puke, isn't nearly enough. I made my commitment to a (short) lifetime of drinking many years ago and I'm not backing down like a little girl over something like this. The same can be said of returning to a bed filled with chunder. After all, I'd already spent much of the night with the bed in this state - it's not that big a deal to continue doing so.
However, nearly electrocuting myself using vomit as a conductor is a different story. I can't face going out like that. I've decided to take much needed action and straighten a few things out. It's time for change and my eyes are open as to the way forward. Yes, that's right. I've unplugged the power adapter. Who the fuck needs an alarm clock and bedside lamp when they're too drunk to read anyways?
Fuck the "point of no return", fuck the so called "moment of clarity". Fuck "turning my life around", fuck "straightening up" and even fuck "flying right". I'll let you know what's on the other side when I get there.
posted by Peter O'Phile at
10:26 pm
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