Hungover

Yesterday I felt dreadful after my compact but effective drinking binge. In fact, I didn’t really feel healthy again until 6pm, which, unfortunately, was when I started drinking again, and so in turn I felt rotten today. We didn’t have much to do, except for a child’s birthday party to attend, but even that was a trial for me. The sun was too bright, the sky was too blue, the air was too warm, the taxi was too fast, it was all too much. At least Felicity was the model of a good citizen, alternately sleeping and eating for the entire day, without making a single complaint.

This is my life. I hang around with other men, and we discuss the bowel movements of our children, or the nipples of our wives, and it doesn’t even seem strange any more.

At about five, we left the party, went to the supermarket and did the week’s grocery shopping. I purchased the kind of things you buy when you’re drunk; wasabi flavored cheese, colored to look like a alice of watermelon and smelling like old feet. Mars bar ice creams, despite having a fridge already chockful of ice cream I’ve bought while I’ve been drunk as a skunk. Nappies, of multiple sizes, although at least that was sort of sensible. I did wonder whether I was conforming to some model of behaviour for my particular demographic.

Our baby slumbered on. She was so quiet, so still, that we were in a constant state of worry until, at 11pm, she let rip with a series of angry caterwauls that we only solved by singing obscene songs to her in a delicate voice, and then reading her more unsuitable literature: after two chapters where there was rather more reference to sex and trees than frankly necessary, the next few chapters have been full of corpse mutilation, fat men being beaten up, gun battles and knees to the groin. That is the sort of thing that makes my wife fall asleep to, and which my child likes to nurse to. I have no idea what I’m storing up for the future of my kid.

It’s going to be a busy week ahead. I may be back on stage on Wednesday, or perhaps Friday. I have Spanish homework to do, we have to pick up our daughter’s passport and ensure I don’t go to jail for failing to fill out paperwork, and on top of those things I need to keep justifying my existence in the office by making more money for the company. At least there’s no more heavy drinking in my immediate future: my liver can rest easy for a while.

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