Part of me misses the days when I could drink like a fish and didn't suffer much as a consequence.
Those days are long gone...
I don't understand the overwhelming need for people to encourage others to get drunk. These days I generally choose to have one or two and I'm done, and yet am often subject to pressure to drink more in order to have fun. I think these days I definitely have more fun without drinking. The next day is more fun for sure.
Friday night I did initially intend to just have a few. During the day I was convinced to have more than a few. Then the earthquake hit and I thought "fuck this shit, I'm getting drunk". At some point between then and the start of the evening, I crashed. I got sad and grumpy and I'm still not sure what turned the switch. This was the initiator for the big bottle of whiskey. At 6pm we started. I cheered up and got into drinking games with gusto. I remember yelling at people to de-sex their cat. I remember being sad and having a bit of a cry on the balcony. Then I remember throwing up and crawling into my friend's bed. I think it was about 10pm. At 1.30am-ish I heard everyone leaving, so I managed to miss the majority of the party. And I still feel a bit seedy today.
Not worth it. Not worth feeling like shit for the rest of the weekend, nor being embarrassed about facing a couple of people at work tomorrow. And all for what?
I think the emo-ness was brought about partly by being on edge after the quakes, but also because in 2 weeks time it will be 10 years since Jeremy passed away. I have been thinking about it but I perhaps had underestimated how upset I am about it. Operation Brave Face is not always so effective after all....
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