As you peel your eyelid off of the pillow and attempt to use the piece of inflated sandpaper you have replaced your tongue with to cry out for help, it does feel as though the word may have ground to a halt. The likelihood of this is slim, you are just hungover.
Somewhere between the seventh pint and the twelfth you realised that you had superpowers. An inhuman ability to inhale ethanol based beverages. Tequila was a good choice, it makes you happy after all? Alas, as Newton's third law states, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, what goes up must come down. Tequila then also makes you sad, or does it?
Back to the pillow. You have managed to locate the phone you smashed on the floor outside the kebab/chicken/insert relevant fried epicurean delight shop last night and realise that you have been woken up early, not by your alarm, but by a sharp spike of hormones flying through your fragile body from the adrenal gland. This is the fear my friend. What the fuck happened? Where is my wallet? Where is my phone (its in your hand but you are still plastered so this doesn't occur to you in the moment)? What's this red stuff? Was I stabbed (no its chilli sauce)? This adrenalin spike urges you to get up quickly, probably too quickly and BOOM, the room is spinning, the likelihood is you will actually feel brilliant at the moment, but that is a ruse. Your body is fucking with you and so is the Tequila.
To the shower. You stand in there, bloodshot eyes barely focusing on the bar of soap staring at you with judgement and no compassion for you or the predicament you have found yourself in. Everything is in an elevated state, you are still impeccably drunk, but you kid yourself believing you have skipped the real pain. The fear slightly subsides. This is temporary.
Dressing is sluggish, but obviously, it is okay to wear a hoody today, the tiredness is taking over. You have to get to work.
The fear returns, standing at the platform waiting for the inevitably late train, other members of the species are there, however, they are carbon-based rather than tequila-based super-humans like you. Must not hurl as you are pressed into the gas chamber/overcrowded TFL excuse for municipal transport.
After a while, you arrive in the office. The morning is a mixture of ups and downs, largely blurry, passing both immensely quickly and slowly at the same time. Again, it is unlikely that there has been in a tear in the fabric of time, you are just hungover.
Lunch. You Bastard. You know you have to eat something, but the mere thought of solids passing your lips is enough to turn you green at the gills. However, it must be done. Opting for the obvious choice of a burger isn't always the best idea, sometimes you need to really kick start the system, but chewing isn't an option. That's where RAMEN comes in. Spicy, easy to eat, full of salt and sugar. Noodles literally do not need to be chewed (safety warning kids! Always chew you noods!) if you know what you are doing.
Back to the office, now you feel almost carbon-based again and that sinking dread is ebbing away, it turns out the world isn't about to implode and you did try to phone your boss asking for a holiday 4 hours before work was meant to start but that's okay, because he was in the Taxi next to you (true story, I was an intern at the time).
Back to the pub, hair of the dog... and the wheel continues to spin.
Somewhere between the seventh pint and the twelfth you realised that you had superpowers. An inhuman ability to inhale ethanol based beverages. Tequila was a good choice, it makes you happy after all? Alas, as Newton's third law states, for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, what goes up must come down. Tequila then also makes you sad, or does it?
Back to the pillow. You have managed to locate the phone you smashed on the floor outside the kebab/chicken/insert relevant fried epicurean delight shop last night and realise that you have been woken up early, not by your alarm, but by a sharp spike of hormones flying through your fragile body from the adrenal gland. This is the fear my friend. What the fuck happened? Where is my wallet? Where is my phone (its in your hand but you are still plastered so this doesn't occur to you in the moment)? What's this red stuff? Was I stabbed (no its chilli sauce)? This adrenalin spike urges you to get up quickly, probably too quickly and BOOM, the room is spinning, the likelihood is you will actually feel brilliant at the moment, but that is a ruse. Your body is fucking with you and so is the Tequila.
To the shower. You stand in there, bloodshot eyes barely focusing on the bar of soap staring at you with judgement and no compassion for you or the predicament you have found yourself in. Everything is in an elevated state, you are still impeccably drunk, but you kid yourself believing you have skipped the real pain. The fear slightly subsides. This is temporary.
Dressing is sluggish, but obviously, it is okay to wear a hoody today, the tiredness is taking over. You have to get to work.
The fear returns, standing at the platform waiting for the inevitably late train, other members of the species are there, however, they are carbon-based rather than tequila-based super-humans like you. Must not hurl as you are pressed into the gas chamber/overcrowded TFL excuse for municipal transport.
After a while, you arrive in the office. The morning is a mixture of ups and downs, largely blurry, passing both immensely quickly and slowly at the same time. Again, it is unlikely that there has been in a tear in the fabric of time, you are just hungover.
Lunch. You Bastard. You know you have to eat something, but the mere thought of solids passing your lips is enough to turn you green at the gills. However, it must be done. Opting for the obvious choice of a burger isn't always the best idea, sometimes you need to really kick start the system, but chewing isn't an option. That's where RAMEN comes in. Spicy, easy to eat, full of salt and sugar. Noodles literally do not need to be chewed (safety warning kids! Always chew you noods!) if you know what you are doing.
Back to the office, now you feel almost carbon-based again and that sinking dread is ebbing away, it turns out the world isn't about to implode and you did try to phone your boss asking for a holiday 4 hours before work was meant to start but that's okay, because he was in the Taxi next to you (true story, I was an intern at the time).
Back to the pub, hair of the dog... and the wheel continues to spin.
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