The bill from last night:
1 pack of cigarettes
1 bottle of wine
3 glasses of Jack
4 hours of sleep
Enough to give me a solid buzz and spring me to my feet so I can dance like a monkey on stage while insulting the bridesmaids. Fun Saturdays, even funnier Sundays.
I found myself sunpunched in the morning, clutching my pillows surprised I was awake from a fall that didn’t happen like I was stupefied by my own existence. A few steps. In the kitchen to drink more. More water.
For me, the hangover day is a good day. There’s a sense of comradery with your fellow drunken sailors and time seems to be on your side as everything feels submerged in honey. Your day is much simpler — there’s only one objective: don’t throw up
While there are ways to mitigate the foul effects of drinking, I say take it like a man. Feel your liver working extra hard to excrete the poison from your system, feel your stomach turn like a cloth ball inside a washing machine. There’s no shame.
You can do coffee, though. Oh yeah, coffee completes the circle. It drips and gives evidence of life. But never drink hangover coffee alone, no no.
Part of the ritual is the morning, grumpy coffee with the same group from last night. An admission of guilt by association. A fresh start.
So, here I am walking a straight line to the cafe, everyone aware of each other, a silent understanding. I sit and order. You don’t need to talk much, just being in the presence of others is enough for hangover coffee. Maybe munch on white flour submerged in fried oil.
Some guy this, some girl that, the usual gossip. Aether of aether. The joy of mindless interaction and the tonic effect of the caffeine bean on a system that’s sluggish but delightfully alive.
These mornings are good for you. Getting drunk is a constitutional and human right. You had the personal agency to make a “bad” decision, without an objective reason, and you did and now you’re paying the price willingly, without external punishment by some force outside of your control. You’re the plaintiff, the defendant, and the judge.
A beautiful and vulgar expression of free will. You, my drunk reader, are the ultimate manifestation of divine order.