Wine
Has its drawbacks too. Last night was so not a good idea. I've been manic all week (last week was quiet at work, so I booked a holiday. This week I got about 6 urgent new jobs in), and only realised on Wednesday that I'd agreed to go to a works social do on the Thursday night. I'd hardly been in all week (working late on Tuesday, running club on Monday and Wednesday) so hadn't got close to starting packing. Or doing lots of other things I need to do. So I decided that as I'd paid for a ticket I'd go for the food and a single glass of the free alcohol. Then I'd leave. I'd definitely leave after that.
I don't think it takes a genius to work out what happened next. One drink turned into "just one more drink" and before I knew it I was drinking the bar out of red wine. I didn't attempt to keep count, but I would estimate that I was midway through the second bottle before I managed to leave.
I managed to get home, although my recollection of how is a little hazy. I even managed to throw some clothes into the washing machine AND start it. Doing well. And then I tried to lie down. I'd been going so well, but when I tried to shut my eyes I got that room moving round you sensation. Don't tell me you don't know the one.
At this point I decided to try my normal act of desperation. This is where I realise that I'm beyond redemption and I'm going to be sick sooner or later, so I may as well get it over with. Should we say that when I get to that stage I try to help the process along. I'd rather get it out of the way before I go to sleep than throw up in the morning.
Somehow I managed to pass out during this process and woke up on the bathroom floor, using a packet of loo rolls as a pillow and with puke down my top. Lovely. I'm painting such a glamourous picture here, aren't I? This is why I usually remember to stop drinking rather earlier than that. Damn you, free wine. And particularly damn whoever put another £500 behind the bar when the original tab ran out, meaning I could have another one despite only having £2 on me at the time.
Remarkably I felt alive this morning. Not on top form, admittedly, but rather better than I should have felt. I even managed to be productive at work (not that I had a great deal of choice in the matter because I was trying to finish everything off before Spain). But by the end of the day I was visibly flagging, and I still haven't packed. (Yes, at this stage blogging is clearly more important than packing. 12 hours and counting til I leave the house, and I need to sleep too). I needed something quick and convenient to eat. And comforting, too.
Which is how I ended up on the phone to a journalist doing a "My Fantastic Weight Loss" story (I caved, I'll tell more at a later stage) while nursing a hangover and eating pizza. An inspiration to people everywhere. The pizza and wine diet, look what it did for me.
Right, I really must do that packing.
I don't think it takes a genius to work out what happened next. One drink turned into "just one more drink" and before I knew it I was drinking the bar out of red wine. I didn't attempt to keep count, but I would estimate that I was midway through the second bottle before I managed to leave.
I managed to get home, although my recollection of how is a little hazy. I even managed to throw some clothes into the washing machine AND start it. Doing well. And then I tried to lie down. I'd been going so well, but when I tried to shut my eyes I got that room moving round you sensation. Don't tell me you don't know the one.
At this point I decided to try my normal act of desperation. This is where I realise that I'm beyond redemption and I'm going to be sick sooner or later, so I may as well get it over with. Should we say that when I get to that stage I try to help the process along. I'd rather get it out of the way before I go to sleep than throw up in the morning.
Somehow I managed to pass out during this process and woke up on the bathroom floor, using a packet of loo rolls as a pillow and with puke down my top. Lovely. I'm painting such a glamourous picture here, aren't I? This is why I usually remember to stop drinking rather earlier than that. Damn you, free wine. And particularly damn whoever put another £500 behind the bar when the original tab ran out, meaning I could have another one despite only having £2 on me at the time.
Remarkably I felt alive this morning. Not on top form, admittedly, but rather better than I should have felt. I even managed to be productive at work (not that I had a great deal of choice in the matter because I was trying to finish everything off before Spain). But by the end of the day I was visibly flagging, and I still haven't packed. (Yes, at this stage blogging is clearly more important than packing. 12 hours and counting til I leave the house, and I need to sleep too). I needed something quick and convenient to eat. And comforting, too.
Which is how I ended up on the phone to a journalist doing a "My Fantastic Weight Loss" story (I caved, I'll tell more at a later stage) while nursing a hangover and eating pizza. An inspiration to people everywhere. The pizza and wine diet, look what it did for me.
Right, I really must do that packing.
posted by YP at 8:05 PM
2 Comments:
I makes me so happy to know that I'm not the only one this happens to...
Me too ;)
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