Everybody hates the morning after – and I’m not talking about that kind of morning. I’m talking about the mornings where you wake up with your heart pounding like the galloping of a million horses and the pulse drums into your head. I’m talking about the mornings where your tongue feels dry but you can’t even get up to drink water. I’m talking about the mornings where everything feels hot and cold at the same time. I’m talking about the mornings where you attempt to remember what the fuck happened – but yeah, you don’t.

I hate hangovers.

I envy those people who are all, “Yeah, I don’t get hangovers ’cause I’m awesome like that” or something. Or you know, maybe they just didn’t have enough to drink. But, I don’t know – sometimes I feel like hangovers are character-building, always a constant reminder of the mistake of drinking just a little too much, going a little too over the edge. Hangovers are like alcoholic bruises for me – you don’t remember exactly how you got them, but they’re there reminding you that you did something particularly stupid.

Come Friday morning, I had a nasty hangover even if I sobered up as morning drew nearer. I must admit that early into the night I was sending texts that weren’t exactly thought through (thanks to my inhibitory neurotransmitters that the alcohol blocked), and when I wake up in the morning, I recall sending them but not exactly remembering what I wrote in those texts. It’s always been a major pain in the ass, but what can you do? Oh yeah, stop drinking so much.

I remember typing the first half of this blog entry early Friday morning and recalling that stupor of waking up and staring up at the ceiling, pathetically trying to salvage the memories of the night before. The rest of the day will always be spent in a stupor, eating my head off and detoxifying myself with water and juice. The rest of the day will always be spent trying to forget the stupid things you did, and chiding yourself that you’re really never going to do it again. The rest of the day will be spent suddenly remembering why you were drinking so much in the first place, and come evening you’re pretty much ready to start drinking again. By that evening, you’d want to drink yourself into a drunken stupor once more, just to try to numb yourself.

It’s just like what shampoo bottles say: lather, rinse, repeat. Lather yourself in alcohol (if that even means anything), rinse yourself of the grime the morning after, and repeat if desired.

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