Thursday, January 8, 2009

Hangover

Awake with a purple gasp on your Res bed, in last night’s clothes. Your heart’s beating like a fucked clock, and your nerves are shrieking like a xylophone being scraped with a fork. Try to focus, but thoughts misfire, plonk and plink like knives and forks being flushed down the toilet. 

Headshrinker
Stumble to basin, slop water down mouth, trying to wash out the taste of ZimSoc wine. Lurchingly glimpse your face in the mirror. Not good. Your head has apparently been dried out and shrunken while sleeping. Lectures are out of the question. Just curl up foetal and ride out the trauma.

Denial
No no nooo. Someone or something is hammering your mind on an anvil with a bowling ball. Your mouth tastes filthy and dry as the floor of a parrot cage.

Anger
What. The. Fuck! Why do I do this to myself? Is that a vomit stain on my shoes? Why do these muscles hurt? Did I make out with anyone? Why is there a traffic cone in my bed?

Bargaining
Please make this stop. I’ll go to tomorrow’s dawnie. I’ll finish that Keats essay. I’ll give money to smallchangers.

Depression
Loser syndrome. A black mood arrives like a Smiths box set. I hate this room, my degree, this town, my life. I HATE everything. Except Mazoe and Grandpa headache pills. Aaah…

Acceptance
The painkillers are kicking in. You’re surfacing. Screw the bargaining, you’re not going to drink until… Wednesday.

2 comments:

Janelle said...

oh The Worst...hate PPD's..post piss up depression...bloody funny blog this! waiting waiting waiting on Fush...keep up keep up. x j

timothymarcjones said...

Janelle,
I HATE PPD too. Makes you wonder if the few hours of drunken abandon was worth it.

Am working on fush.... juust sooo damn lazy after the holidays.