Week 12 – Hangover

It was just meant to be one coffee. One quick catch up with old friends and then promises to “talk soon”, but don’t. You know, the usual.
But waking up has evolved into a desperate attempt to hold onto the bed, hoping not to fall off of it as the room spins seemingly clockwise and counter at the same time.
Head pounding, throat burning, body bruised. As eyes are peeled open there are just smudges of outlines, not quite forming shapes. Arms are heavy as fingers attempt to rub around eyes, but nothing comes into focus. And what would be seen anyway? Just the edge of a nose and the creases of sheets.
Bringing the knees sideways to join the chest with the plan of rolling onto them and eventually sitting up suddenly seems like the worst idea ever as it is put into action.
The rolling is bad enough as the mattress shifts with weight, but the task of curving the back and bringing head to knees, or worse, keeping the back straight and lifting the head up, now seems impossible.
The mind continues its drumming even as the body is kept still, forehead flat on sheets. If it would only stop for a second it would be enough time to move. Deal with the pain later.
Streaks of light and the glitter of dust are starting to take over the room. It’s still morning, but how much of it is left?
The pain’s not going away. Going to have to move through it instead.
As weight shifts backwards, and the dragging of forehead against cotton begins, it’s not so much pressure on the head as it is a lack of, causing problems. With movement, it’s like the skull is growing a metre out each way leaving the brain to battle gravity on its own. Just as the head is being lifted off the sheets, gravity takes over. The skull rushes back in to protect the mind as lights blur to black and the head hits the bed again.
One coffee. How did one coffee lead to feeling like this?
A name badge, that’s how. And three letters: M A X.
Max had brought over the coffees and got chatting with the group. Some flirting back and forth and then a suggestion to head to the new wine bar next door led them all down the rabbit hole.
Attempting to lift the head once more, eyes stinging and pressure building across eyebrows, a business card comes into focus on the side table, next to shapes resembling a cellphone and watch.
A business card with a phone number.
Double beat of the heart.
Max’s phone number.
Maybe this morning’s pain is worth it after all.

4 responses to “Week 12 – Hangover”

  1. I love your short stories, I wish I could write like that

    1. Aww! Such a compliment coming from an awesome blogger such as yourself πŸ™‚

      1. Thanks Kendall, That’s kind of you to say, but I just write what I say or think based on what I know or see, whereas you make stuff up, I’d like to write fiction but I don’t have the imagination and it’s way outside my comfort zone. All the great literature is fiction, not essays. So that’s why your stuff is cool. It’s creative and engaging. Are you going to put it in a short story book? You should

      2. Not sure yet – will see how things are going closer to the 30 week mark πŸ™‚ I have now got the software though! Fiction just needs a starting point. That’s one of the reason I’m making myself write something every week, so that I am actively using my creative side and giving it a deadline. Why not try the 100 days project and commit yourself to writing a bit of fiction every day for 100 days? πŸ™‚ Can recommend watching this video to start things off http://www.tedxauckland.com/past-events/emma-rogan/ πŸ™‚

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