This morning I was reminded of the Peter Griffin quote from Family Guy: "let's drink till we can't feel feelings anymore." I was reminded of it because I couldn't feel anything when I woke up and excessive drinking was the root cause of my ailment. That's not entirely true, while excessive drinking was the culprit in my situation, I could feel something, I could feel my brain pulsating in it's cage of bone and flesh; my brain wanted out and I would have done anything to let it go. So, beyond excruciating pain in my head and neck I couldn't feel anything. It was bizarre, moving my legs through the sheets of my bed elicited nothing resembling a feeling besides increased nausea. I reached for my glass of water only to realize drinking from it would require sitting up, so I just opened my mouth and poured water into it. Naturally, I ended up pouring water all over my face and then coughing up any water that actually made it into my face hole.
Another night of being overserved. I swear to shit, my Sundays are becoming eerily similar. In the same way my cat knows that my waking up in the morning means he's about to eat, I know that waking up on a Sunday means I'm going to feel exactly like a big sack of shit. I've grown terrified of Sundays, I wrote a long time ago (July 20th) that I hate Sundays, that sentiment has only grown more powerful. I should go ahead and mark off all the Sundays on my calendar: busy. meeting with Grim Reaper.
It's almost 5 o'clock and the horrible sickness of being I experienced this morning is but a bad dream ready to be remembered next Sunday. My body aches all over, probably from unconscious bodily convulsions caused by my organs fighting against the tsunami of alcohol given them last night. Curious that all the separate organs of my body were fighting for their lives when all I wanted to do was die. It feels like someone gave my spine what-for with one of those mini baseball bats they hand out on "bat day" at stadiums. Of course, I'm smart enough to know that no one hit me with a mini bat; I'm just experiencing my body's way of telling me "fuck you!" Fuck me indeed.
You know what else though, besides me being fucked? Fuck Bono. That's right, Bono from U2. That arrogant piece of shit! Running around telling everyone we need to clear third world debt. It's fucking easy to tell people to forgive a debt owed them when your money's not involved. Sure world wide poverty is bad, but you didn't give a shit about it until you became the richest Mick on the planet. Next time those fuckers in Burkina Faso need another loan because they dammed all their rivers and burned down all their trees we'll send them to you. They only need 41.5 million (dollars, not potatoes) this year, you can hand it over to them and then absolve them of it immediately afterwards. Yea, I expect that will happen right after the Columbia lands.
Another night of being overserved. I swear to shit, my Sundays are becoming eerily similar. In the same way my cat knows that my waking up in the morning means he's about to eat, I know that waking up on a Sunday means I'm going to feel exactly like a big sack of shit. I've grown terrified of Sundays, I wrote a long time ago (July 20th) that I hate Sundays, that sentiment has only grown more powerful. I should go ahead and mark off all the Sundays on my calendar: busy. meeting with Grim Reaper.
It's almost 5 o'clock and the horrible sickness of being I experienced this morning is but a bad dream ready to be remembered next Sunday. My body aches all over, probably from unconscious bodily convulsions caused by my organs fighting against the tsunami of alcohol given them last night. Curious that all the separate organs of my body were fighting for their lives when all I wanted to do was die. It feels like someone gave my spine what-for with one of those mini baseball bats they hand out on "bat day" at stadiums. Of course, I'm smart enough to know that no one hit me with a mini bat; I'm just experiencing my body's way of telling me "fuck you!" Fuck me indeed.
You know what else though, besides me being fucked? Fuck Bono. That's right, Bono from U2. That arrogant piece of shit! Running around telling everyone we need to clear third world debt. It's fucking easy to tell people to forgive a debt owed them when your money's not involved. Sure world wide poverty is bad, but you didn't give a shit about it until you became the richest Mick on the planet. Next time those fuckers in Burkina Faso need another loan because they dammed all their rivers and burned down all their trees we'll send them to you. They only need 41.5 million (dollars, not potatoes) this year, you can hand it over to them and then absolve them of it immediately afterwards. Yea, I expect that will happen right after the Columbia lands.
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