**I discovered this today, saved among some of my other scrawlings. It's one of the many random thoughts that made it onto paper but never made it to the light of the blogosphere's day. I wrote this in late November, 2013, and let's just say that some things never change.**
I realized something today, when I woke up, head spinning, sweating under the subtle blanket of possible shame that I knitted last night with each attempt to shotgun a Budweiser: the more consecutive days in a row that I drink, the weirder of a drunk I become. I contemplated this as I lay in bed this morning, trying to recreate the night before, and the night before that (and maybe the night before that. It's the holidays, fuck you). I think I've finally mapped out what happens on a long stretch of boozing.
Night One: I'm fun and energetic. Myself, only louder.
Night Two: I'm lazier, wanting to play card games or watch a movie, or anything that doesn't have a lot of movement. This is not definitive; I can be convinced into traversing the town on foot on Night Twos. It just takes more...you know. Convincing.
Night Three: I become that toddler who won't admit how tired she is and therefore throws tantrums all the time just to stay awake; Night Three is when things start to get obnoxious, especially because my body needs all the coaching in the world to actually get drunk. At a certain point, beer does less in the getting-me-drunk department and more in the getting-me-full-and-sleepy department. That doesn't stop me from trying.
Night Four: Night Four, and all of the nights to follow, are just messier recreations of Night Three coupled with a lot of attempts at meaningful conversations that end in tears of either, "I FUCKING LOVE YOU!" or, "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME!" but mostly, "I AM NOT THAT DRUNK, STOP JUDGING ME!" Night Four drunk usually gets food stuffed into her face just to keep her quiet and happy for a little while. I would stop by Night Four, but hey, free food.
A younger me didn't have this awareness; back then, any drink turned into all of these nights in one. Don't worry, she's long gone.
I only bring this up because I'm graduating college in two weeks, at which point I must enter the fabled World of Adulthood (which I would have already been in if I wasn't graduating college 2.5 years late). Growing up is all about self awareness. For if we do not understand ourselves, we cannot experience the personal evolution that, together with our fellow man, creates a more enlightened global future. It is only by looking inwards that we can clear the fog from our eyes and see the world with clarity; we can see past the complexity and recognize the universe for the simplicity that makes it so beautiful.
Basically, I'm on Night Three, and I want to apologize to my friends in advance. See you tomorrow.
I realized something today, when I woke up, head spinning, sweating under the subtle blanket of possible shame that I knitted last night with each attempt to shotgun a Budweiser: the more consecutive days in a row that I drink, the weirder of a drunk I become. I contemplated this as I lay in bed this morning, trying to recreate the night before, and the night before that (and maybe the night before that. It's the holidays, fuck you). I think I've finally mapped out what happens on a long stretch of boozing.
Night One: I'm fun and energetic. Myself, only louder.
Night Two: I'm lazier, wanting to play card games or watch a movie, or anything that doesn't have a lot of movement. This is not definitive; I can be convinced into traversing the town on foot on Night Twos. It just takes more...you know. Convincing.
Night Three: I become that toddler who won't admit how tired she is and therefore throws tantrums all the time just to stay awake; Night Three is when things start to get obnoxious, especially because my body needs all the coaching in the world to actually get drunk. At a certain point, beer does less in the getting-me-drunk department and more in the getting-me-full-and-sleepy department. That doesn't stop me from trying.
Night Four: Night Four, and all of the nights to follow, are just messier recreations of Night Three coupled with a lot of attempts at meaningful conversations that end in tears of either, "I FUCKING LOVE YOU!" or, "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND ME!" but mostly, "I AM NOT THAT DRUNK, STOP JUDGING ME!" Night Four drunk usually gets food stuffed into her face just to keep her quiet and happy for a little while. I would stop by Night Four, but hey, free food.
A younger me didn't have this awareness; back then, any drink turned into all of these nights in one. Don't worry, she's long gone.
I only bring this up because I'm graduating college in two weeks, at which point I must enter the fabled World of Adulthood (which I would have already been in if I wasn't graduating college 2.5 years late). Growing up is all about self awareness. For if we do not understand ourselves, we cannot experience the personal evolution that, together with our fellow man, creates a more enlightened global future. It is only by looking inwards that we can clear the fog from our eyes and see the world with clarity; we can see past the complexity and recognize the universe for the simplicity that makes it so beautiful.
Basically, I'm on Night Three, and I want to apologize to my friends in advance. See you tomorrow.
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