It's three o'clock in the morning. Day four. I'm wide awake. Every inch of my skin seems to itch. My hands and feet feel numb. No matter which way I toss or turn, I can't get comfortable. I'm tearing my hair out, and three layers of skin have been scratched off my right leg. It's like coming off coke without the paranoia.
My partner lovingly suggested I might like to write for a while.
"They" say the first three days are the worst, that if you can get through that you'll be fine.
I thought the same thing about my recent visit to my immediate family. It frankly isn't true. My younger sister spent most of the time trying to impress me by her ability to hold a drink, even when drunk, her vast knowledge of prescription medication and her penchant for a bit of the green at sparrow's fart. What she doesn't know is that I'd been doing that and more for the last seven years, with substances of far greater interest to law enforcement. It was a sibling rivalry FAIL.
When I wasn't drinking Amanda (and myself) under the table, I spent my time recovering with Trent (one of my three younger brothers), watching so many chick flicks by the end of the week I swear I could lactate. In all fairness to my brother though, I must admit that Pretty Woman is a pretty good hangover cure.
So, the third day of my holiday (and onwards) was spent in a bourbon haze. The third day of my most recent effort to quit was spent in a haze of a different kind.
Could I concentrate? Could I, bollocks. Aside from the blank stare which was my uncontrollable face de jour, I managed to wipe out several people when I fell over as my tram braked, at my stop, thankfully. I don't think that was quite as embarrassing as the woman booked by the plain-clothes ticket inspectors. Oddly, I'm still undecided about how I feel about coming second in the embarrassment stakes. I really don't like losing.
Next, I managed to trip on thin air between my usual coffee haunt and the office. This would have been fine except for the fact that the lid came off my scaldingly hot coffee and a woman with a pram decided to intersect my path right at that moment. You can't write this stuff. Thankfully disaster was averted, but I'd quickly realised that balance was beyond me and I'd perhaps best spend the rest of the day lying down. This thought came to me at 8:30. AM. It was one of those days, but I prefer to have been on a bender as a precursor. At least that way I know I've got no coordination because I exhausted it all pulling really fly moves on the dance floor. Yes. Fly.
I just wanted to go back to bed. Hell, at the time I would've swapped yesterday for another week with the family. My senses have been slightly recovered since.
Continuing on, you'd think if balance was beyond me, I'd be safe sitting in a chair for the day talking on the phone. My seat obtained and balance restored, it appeared that with all the energy it was taking to keep me on the chair I'd lost the power of speech. Oh, it was a great day, ladies and gentlemen.
if I wasn't being dyslexic, I was repeating myself, or stopping mid-sentence and blanking out, only to be brought back to Earth by the very nervously repeated 'Hello" by the little old dear on the other end of the line. Even seated I was a menace, nearly running over my glasses with my office chair. Had I been successful it would have been the second pair to be destroyed in such a fashion. Ask Mother.
I think the fact that while I ostensibly spent the day at work but was really asleep the whole time, may be contributing the fact that I'm here now with my cup of Lady Gray and really cold toes, regaling you with the fact I managed I got through yesterday in an almost perfect imitation of a zombie. The only consolation is that since my physical body remained at work for the required 8 hours, I still earn a full day's pay.
Apparently, so my research tells me, this vagueness is normal and it's possible I may be slightly out of it for the next several weeks. Oh this is going to be fun!
Ok, since it's bound to be commented on, I must confess that even on a normal day I have potential as an occupational health and safety nightmare, and there is no shortage of moments where you just want to shake your head and cringe. Most people find it endearing. I'd probably be the perfect bumbling sidekick except I want to skip straight to the part where I have my own successful spin-off.
Those who really know me are bound to ask how yesterday differs from any other day in which I almost seriously injure myself and/or several innocents. Armed now with the perfect excuse, to them I politely proffer my middle finger.
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