I woke up at 7:30 this morning and I only knew two things. One, I had to be at work in a little over an hour, and I couldn't be late on my first day. Two, I felt like hell. I jolted awake at the sound of my alarm, somehow thinking that I had overslept, giving me a momentary flush of adrenaline that propelled me through my hangover, enabling me to--somehow--put myself together and get on my way to work. As I went through my paperwork with the HR lady, I pieced the night before together, slowly but surely.
The night started out innocently enough, as they all do. I was invited over to a pal's house for a "few beers" and things just got out of control after that. Out of control, in this instance, meant a jaunt to a few random bars and a strange amble through the rain.
So, we went over to aforementioned house and slugged a few Natty Lights. Then the call came--only girls have this power over my associates--to swing by The Neighbers, a bar so ghetto it's sweet. Things proceeded from there as the siren song of Eat the Worm and their devastatingly tasty/strong margs rang out to our wayward ears. Needless to say, we ended up there, downing a scrumptious 'rita. Someone taunted Beechnut and I, so we made a quick sprint to the Dubliner for an Irish Car Bomb. Yes, I just used "sprint" and "Irish Car Bomb" in the same sentence without also including "vomit" or "trash can." Crazy, huh?
Anyways, we came back to the Worm, drilled a tequila shot, and headed home. We were sidetracked in the always awesome Pioneer Courage Park, where security reprimanded us (a few times) for funning about on the statues. I'm sorry, sir, but we will dance with the metal lady if we please.
Anyways, I returned home way drunker than planned, six hours from having to report at work. Oops. I fell asleep on the couch and got what I could for sleep. Such is life, yes? I woke up this morning head churning, heart burning and headed to work, where my hangover punished me till well after lunch.
Despite the crappiness, I learned something today. Hold on: I didn't learn it, I guess, but was shown the cold manifestation of previously hinted-at fact. We can't live like this forever. Today was my first hand witness at the friction between the life I'm living and real life. If I go out and get blasted the night before a 9 o'clock class, it's no big deal. I zonk out for a few hours and get the notes else where. Go to work still reeling, and I'm screwed. You can't cheat when you're a copy editor. Trust me, I've tried. At the risk of "waxing philosophical" (Harrison sucks) I won't keep talking about being a grown up or whatever, or how old we're getting, or how the wraith of own illusory maturity has somehow ossified overnight. Instead, I will try to part with a ray of hope. I'm going out again tonight, and I'm going to get drunk. If I show up to work hungover everyday, they might just assume that I'm not a "morning person."
Here goes nothing.