Drink up, baby.
Alcohol. An intoxication of the body and the mind, an escape. A social “must”. It can bring you out of your shell, and transform your demeanour, from a quiet soul, to a clumsy, obnoxious, slobbering idiot who can’t even string two words together. Quite amazing really, when you think about it. We have the power to change who we are, whether it’s to a happier version of ourselves, or just a complete and utter arsehole. Of course, it’s a temporary thing, and then the next morning, the spell wears off, and you are left to suffer with the slow and painful transformation back to your former self. I believe these are called “hangovers”. My typical hangover consists of waking up a couple of hours after I fall asleep, feeling like my bed is a ship on a stormy sea, rolling out of bed, and running into the bathroom for a session of throat burning, bile-hurling (I do suffer from sea-sickness after all). I then manage to make my way down to the kitchen, where I force myself to drink water straight out of the tap, cool and sweet against my tongue and the acidic walls of my mouth. Then what? I struggle back on to my ship, and try to go back to sleep. A few hours later, I repeat the process, but maybe stay up this time round, and go downstairs to slump my bones across the cool, leather sofa, deep breaths and a thumping brain; eyes, heavy iron spheres embedded in my skull. “Was it really worth it?”, a voice in my head would question in a patronising tone. I’d mentally push the voice away, and listen to the constant ringing in my ears instead, feeling like the whole world is caving in on me.
I do not understand how people can do this so often, but then again, I am a lightweight in many respects, and when it comes to the morning after, I just want to crawl into a hole for a couple of days, a hole where I cannot sniff, or even hear of the word “alcohol”, or anything alcohol related. Champagne truffles? No. Not even champagne truffles. All in all, I just don’t think I need to drink so much to have a good time. Sure, I’ll drink, but not to the state where I’m practically quivering like a leaf and bed-ridden for the whole day after, after puking my stomach dry. I’ve learnt that sometimes alcohol can turn people nasty, into people you would never really associate yourself with, I hate it more and more, and after a particular incident I had to witness and hide my embarrassment with (and ended up losing a lot of respect for this particular victim), I think it is the source of all evil (maybe not all evil, but you catch my drift), and that it is a poison that comes with nothing but a temporary high, a high that you hardly remember, but you know was present. It has become fashionable to become out of control of your actions nowadays, you know, girls squatting outside clubs and pissing everywhere, boys starting fights with each other over split beer, and then going outside clubs and pissing everywhere…It’s becoming…Normal?
So, I’ll ask again. Was it really worth it?
