It is around 8am, maybe even 7, an awful feeling shrouds me and I begin to curse and squeal and damn everything in sight. Wicked and evil fragments of the night before begin to emerge and I try with all my might to dispel them. This brief glimmer of hope turns out even more futile as I imagined and I weep. Not for any specific reason, mind you. There comes a time in our lives when the sick, twisted nightmares of our foolish 7 year old minds turn out to be quite real, and they present themselves in very splendid forms, only to reveal themselves and seize your happiness and hope. This ranting and bitching inspires a deep sense of hatred for myself and I am forced to oppose my desires and inclinations. My main inclination being the desire to stay sealed to this wonderfully convenient floorboard for just a moment longer. And so with arrant subversion to my very own will, I begin to arise. What begins as pain very suddenly turns into bodywide torment, if I ever have children, I am sure they will feel this evil feeling as it rattles throughout the bloodline. I’ve had enough of this shame and stand, or at least attempt it. The alcohol still lingers through my head and takes clear delight in my torment. I stagger around and begin the process of learning to walk again. Sometimes we forget how hard babies have it, but most of them don’t have to deal with hangovers so i’m willing to forgo their hardships. On and on we go towards the kitchen, possibly even the garden.

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