The Mighty Fell

I couldn’t blog yesterday. There were no words. The words had all been gobbled up by alcohol and were replaced by moans of “I’m dying” in between long drawn out sighs. I had to sit down to brush my teeth. It hurt to brush my hair. And there was nothing I could do to put myself out of my misery. It was all my own fault. White wine, red wine, more white wine and vodka (and they’re just the ones I remember). Friends, it wasn’t pretty.

Cigarettes, let me say publicly that you are I are done. You are mean, cruel, and nasty. Yesterday in the height of my dying I just knew you had something to do with it. I’m not a full-time smoker, but it seems that whenever there is entertaining, giggles and alcohol, I feel the need to gobble you suckers up. As I lay on the bathroom floor (it was so nice and cool and safe) I texted a friend “All I can smell is smoke, I can taste it. Is it possible I ate one?”

Thankfully in my pursuit of adulthood embarrassment and career limiting displays of drunkedness, I was not alone. I had supporters in my corner, friends who sang, friends who took their shoes off, friends with shooters of multi-coloured liquors, friends who hugged and loved each other so so so much. We were best friends, great friends, we were oh my god I love you friends.

The mighty fell with a thud. And lay motionless. Whimpering.

Did I? Did she tell me…? Oh good lord I was waffling on and on and on. Who was the guy?

Today is a new day.

We were talking about dinner options for this evening. A roast or a risotto? “We could have a nice glass of white?” suggested G.

I let out a faint whimper.

It’s going to take awhile.

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