The Hangover

Originally Posted Saturday, October 18, 2014

I couldn't write yesterday.  I had to be at the factory super early for a long day of strategery.  It was as awful as you can imagine, sycophantic bullshit breakouts saying what is supposed to be said about what the company will look like five years from now, everyone agreeing in the report outs, some sucks praising the CEO for having such a great vision, etc. 

I needed a drink. 

Unbeknownst to you, I have quit drinking, at least had for two weeks or so.  It is healthful but boring, but sometimes you need to be bored.  I was healthfully bored. 

Strategery was finished at four.  I knew the bar I wanted to go to, but it didn't open until five-thirty.  That, at least, was the report.  So the group of fellows with whom I planned to drink all went home.  On the drive back to my ow hometown, I got a call from one of the fellows.  He thought the bar would be open by the time we got back to town.  I agreed to forego the gym and meet him.  Just for one, he said.  He had to get home.  His wife, it seems, is expecting a baby any day. 

(Switch to second person.) 

An Old Fashioned doesn't take long to drink.  The second one takes a bit longer.  You barely notice the third, and then you decide to switch to beer.  Next thing you know, the fellow's wife is texting him wondering if he is ever coming home.  It is dinner time, it seems, so you say goodbye to the fellow you just shared way to much with about your life and head to Fresh Market.  Sushi seems a good idea, then eating it at home, you change your mind.  You've been drinking wine, but you really feel the need for a scotch, just to settle your stomach in case there was something not quite right with the fish.  You turn on the television and there is the last half of The Hangover, Pt. . . you don't know.  But it is funny.  You get up to pour another drink and when you come back, another movie is on, something with Liam Neeson as an air marshall.  

(Switch back to first person.)

I woke up and poured another drink.  The movie was stupid and making little sense, then it was over.  (switch verb tense)  Take the scotch to bed, put on some music. . . fall asleep.  Wake at three, sick in body and head.  Get up and desperately drink water.  Poop--in the middle of the night, for god's sake.  Go back to bed and feel your pancreas and liver talking to you.  Think of Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Faulkner.  Hem was sixty.  Fitz was in his thirties, you think (surprise switch in voice).  You can't remember how old Faulkner was, but you think he made it longer. 

(And then back to first person)

It is Saturday morning, the air cool, the light gentle and beautiful.  The day is slipping away as I got out of bed very late.  Coffee and pumpkin bread.  I'll go to the gym soon.  The day has already gotten away from me.  Perhaps a dinner with a friend tonight.  Who knows.  This is the way of the world.  I will quit drinking again.  Perhaps a glass of wine with the meal.  At home, strong tea.

All this switching of tense and voice seems necessary for the telling.  I think it should be fine, really.  The confusion is atmospheric, revealing.  Whatever.  It is what I have to say here on the doorstep of a fine new day .