This morning, I look pale. With a dry choked mouth, red bulbous eyes and a semi-battered face, or at least what looks like a semi-battered face, I feel, I am a survivor, of a crazy bar fight. My shirt is torn from the pocket and it loosely hangs till my lower ribs. My lips are swollen too, and it hurts when I breathe.
Last night, I was not this person, I clearly recall. I made the party come alive, the moment I walked through Stacy’s doors. I turned every head in the room like I was Tara Reid dressed in a bikini. Don’t get me wrong, I dress fine and I am a guy. I have a sense of humor and I am open to things. New things, old things, wild things. I am open to ideas, I am open to fun and I am open to life and its wild experiences. My kind of party is the one, where you have regrets for breakfast, the morning after.
So I obviously gulped wine, beer, scotch, cocktails, mocktails, shots, martinis, whiskies, and whatever the fuck I could grab with my loose hands and whatever did not taste like puke.
Ohh wait a min…I think I tasted puke too, my own puke or was it Stacy’s? I can’t tell. Not that my taste buds were dead, I just think I faintly remember all that happened, two hours after I declared that the next party is at my place. That was a rather stupid idea, I don’t even have a place of my own. I live with my parents.
I think I was hungry too, to a point where I could eat a rabbit. Yes rabbit, I don’t like to use the phrase “eating a cow”, for it hurts the religious believes of those who surround me. And who doesn’t want to eat a rabbit after all? . One time I ate raw noodles sandwiched between brown wheat breads. You know how weed works.But the worst part was, that I had broken in to my neighbor’s kitchen. Later, when they found that out, I had to run away from there and their 5 year old twin kids threw stones at me, as I showed my back. One would argue, I was “stoned”, quite literally.
So anyway, Stacy had named the party “come puke in my garden”, and I wish I was kidding about the name. So not so surprisingly, I was the first one to give the name a meaning and probably the last one to walk away or maybe swim my way through the endless river of intestinal fluid and tiny valleys of female-high-ankle-boots and men-Jordans.
But today I feel sick, it’s not a hangover. I have had hangovers before, terrible ones at that, but it’ s something different, something I can’t put in words. I feel rotten within, almost as if I have no soul. Maybe that’s exaggerated, but you get the drift? Don’t you?
I just heard a knock, not on the door, I think it’s inside my head. Someone’s in there.
The mirror that I was looking at,if there was one, has disappeared.
I can hear myself breathe. It’s so loud and disturbing, my eardrums ache.
I think I am being dragged to the wall, something pokes my ribs on the way, I must be dreaming.
What is this smell? Did someone piss here? Must have been the purple hair dude from last night. He did look like he could piss anywhere.
What is that noise? I hear someone or something grunting. I just hope there’s no tiger in my bathroom.
Did I just touch another skin? Well, that’s surprising, because I live alone and I don’t, almost never, crash at parties.
It’s still dark and noisy in the other room. I can’t see it, but I truly believe so.
Is the party over?
I can’t tell…