And a friend said to me, “If you can answer that for all drunk people, you will have found the meaning of life for everyone.”
So tell me if this calculation makes sense:
Alcohol + heels + concrete + running around playing tiggy = hospital on a Sunday morning
I sprained my ankle very badly Saturday night and the question above I asked as I was downing painkillers and trying to manoeuvre ice packs onto my swollen ankle. I was feeling incredibly sorry for myself and just wanted to curl up into the foetal position and cry…
Saturday afternoon and night, however, was a blast! After copious amounts of alcohol, I was invincible. Granted my eyes were struggling to focus on a particular point but nonetheless, I was invincible! All inhibitions were gone and I was a force whisking through in a crowded place (which is not like me – my anxiety would soberly tell me to GTFO of that place or cling onto a known human being and use them as a shield to protect myself). The music was in sync with the beat of my heart and the cool air kept the sweat from beading down the back of my neck. The sound of waves crashing on the shore soothed the ringing in my ears from the live music. And then I locked onto the idea of running around having a blast. There will always be something with me and little ones; I am a big kid myself.
Unfortunately my hand-eye coordination and my balance of heels were the fault of my demise, and just like that I crashed down like a Jenga stack when the wrong block had been removed.
But yet, every weekend (or any gathering with my good friends) the deadly juice finds its way back into my hands and my bloodstream, mocking me with ideas and adventures to embark on that I wouldn’t normally at 10am on a Tuesday. More memories created, more bruises imparted; using each as a road map the next day to retrace what happened the night before.
No one ever started a good night out with a salad… 🙂