Internets, I did a very foolish thing last night. And this morning finds me paying for it with every aching fibre of my wrecked little being.
Yes, friends, last night I drank exactly three vodka tonics at a friends going away party and now I’m in HELL.
This is the thing about having a kidney condition where you can’t drink: sometimes you DO drink. And on those three or four occasions per year that this takes place – weddings, girls weekends or, yes, parties where you bid adieu to a friend bound to Australia for a year, you must carefully plan and make preparations months in advance.
Why? Oh sweet naive public with your stretched alcohol tolerances and fully functioning kidneys, because I know what lies in store the morning after and, given the stakes, if I’m using up one of my yearly drinking nights it better be worth it, dammit!
Last night was. But now I’m here, still curled up in a fetal position in my darkened bedroom at 2pm, a metal basin by my bedside, alternating throwing up with throwing back various medications, head pounding, feeling foolish about this unhappy bargain- my entire body is screaming in protest.
I repent! Sanctuary! Sanctuary!
It’s the worst hangover you’ve ever had combined with what I imagine it feels like the morning after a bare knuckle brawl.
Muscles aching, atrophying, protesting the smallest movements. All underwritten with the sad knowledge that the amount you drank wouldn’t have even made most people tipsy.
So I’m lying here feeling sorry for myself and the conditions I’ve created.
Woe is me! Pity party for one, don’t mind the vomit!