"We WILL force the Polish to play..."

Monday. Here I am. Indulging in a sad and familiar chemical comedown still lingering from the three days past after-work beer that ended in the usual drunken haze of taxis and underground events. Yes three days past. It's too long ago to expect any kind of sympathy. Well, not that I at any time after this said Friday expected sympathy, especially not from the people I exposed my drunken self too. The drunken-me, oh that horrible nemesis of mine, talking too much and too loud. You'd think a woman of my age would know better!? Anyway. Normally a hangover would pass within a day. But not this time. No, this time I fall head first down escalators on the following Sunday(!) afternoon to shortly after fall asleep at the table at Sunday dinner with my Gran. She's going on 95 this year, yet I sat there envying her and her relentless energy. I hate cliche sayings and quotes but "the youth is wasted on the young" have never been more true.

So just now I arrive home after a day at work, wondering if I maybe should take the window exit to rid the world of another useless waste of oxygen, and suddenly I feel a bit better. Just as my irrational self loathing and pathetic hangover depression is about to leave room for some creativity and constructive thoughts, I make the worst mistake. I decide to look through the pictures. The pictures are not that bad actually... sure, a bit blurry but the lighting was bad and my camera IS a bit dodgy sometimes... surely it wasn't JUST me being drunk. Surely. But then I see the video. THE VIDEO. Man. How on EARTH could my judgement be SO BAD that I actually recorded video of this... mayhem! Why couldn't I just let it be a distant memory, left in the back of my mind to fade with the rest of my nightmarish fragmented images of how I actually act as drunk.

At first I thought it was OK, people seem almost normal. Like slightly tipsy, sure. But not more than usual. Then I realize that shrill, annoying voice babbling incoherently in the background, was me. And from the noise I manage to distinguish the line ..."we WILL force the Polish to play..." whilst I from behind the camera point a wooden sword into the stomach of a poor undeserving colleague.  I then decided I had seen enough. Not only did I have no recollection of the event or what I was actually talking about, who was Polish and why they had to play, I had plunged right back into the misery I was about to emerge from. So now I sit here. And my only comfort is that I can, potentially, move country. And/or do a "Britney" and shave my head. I somehow doubt it will help. I do however have heads in bags for you.