smug virtuous people in Sydney were pounding the pavements in the City to Surf running competition early this morning, this sporting failure was lying in bed, head pounding, due to the worst hangover imaginable this side of winter.
I’m not proud of my behaviour or the fact that I’ve wasted a whole, precious day of my highly anticipated weekend in recovery.
Why do I continue to do this to my body when I should be old enough to know better? If it hadn’t been for the intolerance of my body to alcohol, I could have walked that City to Surf.
Will I ever grow up?
I’m disappointed in myself because I’ve been trying to cut back on my wine consumption for some time (48hrs), but as many of you (I hope) know, sometimes self-medication has its place in helping us cope with the day-to-day stresses of life; for the short term at least. I learned (again) today, when I vainly tried to quell the bile from rising up from my stomach by distracting myself with a marathon of the BBC ‘s Women In Love, that it’s probably not worth it. Although on the upside, it was healing to be treated to a veritable willy fest on tv, that only the BBC do so well.
I’m still not sure why my judgment slipped last night nor why my wine radar didn’t alert me to the early warning signs of becoming the embarrassing lush of the restaurant.
Everyone knows that Margharitas and wine are a bad match as was being in a foul mood with the old man with free access to cocktails and the sympathetic ear of a girlfriend. And then there was the anxiety over Kurt, who was at his first rave and who had kindly informed me that he had consumed six Vs before 6pm.
But in reality, I know I only have myself to blame.
What seemed like a great night around drink four and five had quickly soured by the end of the evening. I remember closing my eyes in the cab back home before reality bit me squarely in the ass. I had Kurt safely next to me in my drunken fog of relief, and at one point I remember thanking God for such a wonderful life. In fact so relieved was I that I then decided to carry on the party at home, although much of what happened after the taxi journey remains a mystery today. I have been trying to piece together the rest if the night via a translation of the old man’s frown code that he has lobbed in my direction all day.
I found both my dangly earrings in one ear this morning.
I’ve consumed a dam worth of fizzy water and I’m still thirsty.
It has been a day of fear and self-loathing, never to be repeated until the next time. I have taken a solemn vow NEVER to make direct eye contact with another glass of wine until my birthday on Tuesday.
Is it really time to grow up?