031109 – 20. Once in a fucking blue moon
Hello All,
It’s a blustery Tuesday evening in November and I’m back and at my desk listening to a little Paolo Nutini to create the mood, the mood for my writing which is what I’m hoping to now do. The reason I need to create the write mood for my writing is that it has been a while and the reason that it has been a while ladies and gentlemen, well the main one anyway, is that since my little period of abstinence a few weeks back I have well and truly, unceremoniously and with all the grace of a shitting hippo, fallen off the wagon. Let me explain.
I suffer with hangovers badly. I know this to be true as I can’t honestly remember the last time I didn’t spend the day after having a drink, or ten, on the couch in the living room of my parent’s house, lying horizontal and in last night’s undies. I have even been known to spend both Saturday and Sunday pretty much in the same position for the large majority of the time and in the same undies, I repeat the same undies. I will vary the day between snoozing with my head stuffed into the cushions in a pathetic attempt to stave off a piercing headache and watching re-runs of Friends, which if I’m being totally honest, I don’t really find that amusing anymore.
The issue here is that I’m pretty sure that it’s not the hangovers which are the crux of the problem. The real problem is almost certainly the self destructive manner in which I have drunk the night before. These evenings seem to follow a very similar pattern and all start with one or two pints which are drunk in record time and without remorse. The following events then generally happen:
1. Pint 3 – I am aware that I should slow down considerably and proceed to take much smaller mouthfuls from my pint of beer. I take more mouthfuls per minute so that I am still drinking with the same effectiveness as the first two beers.
2. Pint 4, 5 and 6. These pints happen quickly and without me noticing. For a brief period after pint 4 I have already decided that there is nothing left for me to go home to and that I am exceedingly good company. My friends stop laughing all together at my ‘jokes’ midway through pint 5. I continue to tell ‘jokes’, chasing lost laughs.
3. Pint 7 and Rum 1. I am talking incessantly at whoever will listen to me about almost every topic that I know little about. I rarely pause for breath between topics and don’t let anyone else talk in between resulting in deep resentment amongst my friends.
4. Rum 2. I begin to approach people that I think I may know. They move around the bar in a bid to escape me. As my friends have recently left to go home I follow them regardless as I can’t very well stand at the bar on my own now can I?
5. I stand at the bar on my own.
6. More stuff happens that I will remember vaguely throughout the next week or so. This generally happens when I am just about feeling upbeat and is my subconscious telling me that it hates me and reminding me that I should have stayed in university.
Before I go on, please don’t think that I am championing this twattish behaviour because I’m not but this has been happening with greater regularity in recent weeks and so I feel it only right for me to document it. This little nasty cycle ultimately kills just about enough brain cells at a time to render me incapable of speech for a couple of days which makes writing completely out of the question. This leaves me then with a bit of a quandary as I’d been enjoying my writing and during my time away from the tasty poison I was writing regularly and with vigour but then again I am trying to be a little more social and meet up with friends and foes as much as possible so that I don’t die alone. I think there is pretty obvious conclusion to this whole affair, and I won’t write one more fucking word.
Ok that’s a lie. The real conclusion is that I either need to limit my nights out to once in a fucking blue moon or stop drinking at all. Just in case you are wondering, a fucking blue moon is very similar to a blue moon but unlike a blue moon it involves no fucking, which makes the whole thing ironic and quite confusing if you read it really quickly. Once in a fucking blue moon it is then, after all rum is really, really tasty.
Well once in a fucking blue moon will be arriving sooner than anticipated as it’s my little brother, David’s, 21st birthday at the weekend. I’m excited, proud and broke, in equal measures and if I hadn’t just had a painful flashback from last weekend’s debauchery I’m sure I would be wiping away a small tear at present at the thought of how quickly he has grown up et cetera. The reality is that I’m totally fucking envious of him. The chances of him being spoiled rotten are extremely high and being the centre of attention even for a day is bloody marvellous and whilst he deserves it all in massive heaps because I love him immeasurably, I wish it was me all over again. As a little extra birthday gift for David I will now lead us all in a sweet rendition of “happy fuck day ass-wipe” to the tune of “Killing me softly” by the Fugees.
That is about as much as this little tired mind of mine can manage this evening and so I’m off to read a little more of The Rum Diary, is there any fucking escape, and listen to some more Paolo before bed. Thank you for stopping in again after all this time and until next time,
No thank you, I’ve had enough.
With Love,
Andrew