Ah, gotta love a long weekend. I was essentially drunk for about 80 hours straight, and loved every blurry minute of it.
LuLu's birthday coincided with the Queen's Birthday Weekend (how appropriate) so we were all out on Saturday night drinking in his honour. As usual I was way drunker than the actual birthday boy, and all I can really remember is hitting a wall around 1am (I'd been drinking since 6pm, before you think i'm a total pansy) and thinking to myself that I had better stop drinking at that very moment or something terrible would probably happen. So I put down my half-finished beer and walked out the door. I think I should get points for self-control.
Felt awful for most of Sunday, but pepped up when it was time to meet Ellen and her cousin for drinks at the Civic. Three bars later it was about 5am and I'm pretty sure the cab driver was not impressed when I couldn't quite remember where I lived for several minutes.
Which all brings us to Monday. If you're thinking that I might have used the extra day to recover from all the binge drinking, you are so so wrong. Despite whining all morning about how much pain I was in, it was barely past 3pm when I ended up at the first bar of the day, and about midnight when I finally stumbled into my apartment and pissed off The Flattie who was trying to watch the Australia - Japan World Cup game. I unfortunately was in no condition to understand the rules of a basic sporting event and promptly passed out, missing what must have been one of the best 8 minute stretches of a World Cup game ever.
And now I'm at work and my hands have literally been shaking all day because my body doesn't understand why I've suddenly started drinking anything other than beer again. Oh, the horror. Even better -- I have plans to drink every night this week through the weekend. My liver just handed in its resignation.