Sunday, 12 June 2011

The birthday that broke me

Last night I went to my mate's 30th Birthday Party. As a result today has been a bit of a struggle and being conscious is a real effort right now. Once again I over did it and had too much to drink last night and now I feel like I want to curl up into a little ball, rock myself to sleep and concentrate really hard on not being sick everywhere.

It all started to go down hill when we began knocking back the Jager Bombs while still sober. Everyone knows that Jager Bombs should only be consumed after you've already had a few, when sense and logic has gone out of the window which makes the idea of Jager Bombs acceptable. They're not designed to be consumed right at the beginning of the night when you know you've got a five hour drinking session ahead of you. Having said that it certainly warmed me up nicely and helped the two and a half bottles of red plonk and four tequila shots that followed go down quite easily.

So, it doesn't take a genius to work out that I was smashed. Confirmation that I was totally shitted came when I started talking to The Boy about getting married. Now, I don't know why I do it, but it seems that whenever I'm drunk with my boyfriend my thoughts always turn to marriage and I foolishly always talk at him about it and where we should get hitched and when. The first few occasions I did this I massively got the fear and felt like a complete plank. Fortunately The Boy doesn't freak out (anymore) at the topic and instead uses it as an indicator that it's probably time for me to go home. Well that and my inability to stand still and instead take up a swaying motion. Really though, if he feeds me tequila then he's gonna have to suffer the consequences.

I'm now sitting on my bed feeling completely brain dead and tired and ready to go to bed and ignore the fact that it's Monday tomorrow. Ideally I was going to have a nice quiet evening just sitting and convincing myself that I'm not going to be sick or die, but instead I've spent most of the evening chasing a mouse around my room.

Unfortunately my housemate discovered that there's a mouse in the house, then I discovered that it had scampered into my room. I'm not scared of mice and don't have much of a problem with them, but why oh why did it have to pick today to come into my room? Basically with me being in the state that I am the mouse easily out witted me and even though I cleared my room out I still wasn't able to catch the bugger. I even tried to reason with the little mouse, but he didn't seem to care and I'm assuming he's scurried off to some corner of my room that means I can't catch him. I've pretty much stopped caring anyway, the mouse can do whatever the fuck it likes today as I don't have the energy to deal with it. Also isn't it the law that if you catch a mouse you're not allowed to release it? You have to kill it because they're pests. I can safely say that I'm not in a mouse killing mood right now and am pretty sure that if I had to execute the little thing today it would definitely make me vom.

Urgh, right, now I've had a self-pitying moan about feeling so rubbish I think I'm gonna sign off and quietly sit for a bit and hope that no one wants to talk to me right now as conversing I think will hurt my brain. Hopefully this blog isn't as painful to read as it has been to write.

Goodbye -x- 


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