if there’s ever a lesson that i seem to need to learn over and over again, it’s this one.
the weekend was my usual back-to-back social activities. The only real time I had to myself over the weeekend was a portion of the day on Saturday. Friday night directly from work, I went to the Midsumma opening at Federation Square with a few friends and did the usual hobnobbing and saying hi to people I havent seen in a while. Saturday night and most of Sunday I spent out in Kangaroo Ground at a 30th birthday party and Sunday evening till way too late I was at another birthday. I got maybe 4 hours sleep on Saturday night and by Sunday evening I was exhausted but running on adrenaline and a six pack of beer.
Now, a six pack over five hours is not really that big a deal for someone my size. I didnt feel drunk that evening and there was a lot of food. I even had a good time talking to (at) people. And a six pack does not give me a hangover.
No, it’s the comedown the next day that is the killer. Over the last couple of years, I’ve begun to notice that my mood plummets the day after and that the amount of alcohol I need to incur this comedown has been decreasing. The next day, everything looks bleak, easy things become impossible, plans grandiose, relationships fragile, all outcomes negative.
This weekend was no exception with the only difference that the comedown started last night in my sleep and i was plagued by dreams, one intense enough to wake me. In that dream, I came to a bloody accident scene with people hurt and dying and could only stand by helpless as others rushed to assist as best they could even though it was obvious that the injuries were terminal. With no knowledge that it was a dream, I felt unmitigated horror, fear and pity for those poor people.
it is with me still as i write this entry.