My big achievement of the day has been holding down a few gulps of Gatorade and four Ritz crackers, hung over, and sick as a dog. Yesterday's drinking started at noon...
My last day the office, a few people came out for lunch with me at Papagayo, a decent tex-mex place. They made fresh guac at the table, and they served a mean margarita. I got fish tacos while sipping down my drink (1). Food was not bad- the fish tacos were grilled, which was new to me, but the chips were really hard, thick things. Sitting with me were a bunch of coworkers from the NE and one girl from New Mexico, and the two of us were lamenting the lack of good Mexican food. One of the guys at my table had only recently heard of guacamole.
Anyway, after I got back to the office, well warmed from the huge margarita, I started working again, around four, my supervisor came over with a beer for me and we talked about the final stuff he wanted me to do with the model I was working on, so I drank that beer (2).
I ended up working until around six, and went around the office to say goodbye to the few people that were left. It sounds like I will have very strong prospects there when I graduate. Leaving the office, I walked across the street to the new convenience store there and picked up a pint bottle of an IPA brewed in Somerville nearby.
At home, I opened the large bottle (3, 4) and started working on it while doing some preliminary sorting and packing- clean clothes to wear for the next few days, dirty clothes to wash, stuff to take on the plane, and stuff to box to be shipped home.
Noel came home and had a beer and I joined him in the kitchen as we both made ramen noodles for dinner. We talked about this and that, and he offered me a bottle of Rogue Ale (5) which I drank while we ate and chat. Drank another of his beers (6) and then he mentioned going out to meet a friend at a bar, and invited me along. I said, sure!
At this point I was pretty drunk. Noel hailed a cab and we took it to The Sevens, a bar at 77 St.James street, and I bought a round (7) while we waited for his friend to arrive. The bar was pretty standard small bar, we were able to sit at a table, and the vibe was definitely more pub. Noel's friend joined us and we talked for a bit before he bought us all another round (8). At last call, the rest of my brain thoroughly pickled, the deepest, most ancient reptilian part of my brain called for a dose of sanity and a glass of water.
When I got up to use the bathroom before we left, I realized, belatedly, how bad off I was. Seriously staggering, using the wall as a guide. I'm happy I didn't walk into any tables. When I got to the bathroom, I realized I was going to be sick and barely made it to the toilet.
We left the pub shortly thereafter, hailed another cab for the south city diner, which is the go-to place for drunks in the downtown after hours. I've always wanted to go, but with my head spinning and my stomach churning, I was in no mood for a plate of their famous pancakes. I bid the two farewell and started walking home. Noel didn't have keys so he told me to get the door for him to let him in when he got back to the apartment. Even now I can't remember if I did or not. I remember getting home and being more sick in the toilet here a few times, and crashing in bed, sweeping my carefully sorted piles onto the floor.
Waking up this morning was an unpleasant experience. I was so bad, I couldn't hold down water. And this lasted until about noon. After one burst, when I was on my knees in front of the toilet, the sweat bursting of my back, my head about to explode, my eyes tearing and the last bit dribbling from my lips, my sweat-drenched forehead resting on my arms which grasped the communal toilet, when I thought, why am I doing this again?
It is kind of strange when you think about it- when one gets so drunk that one's memory of the event, the fun part, is fuzzy or simply loses it altogether, and then the consequence- prolonged hours of misery experienced fully with a sober head and a pounding headache- why we repeat it? It's like we're failing Pavlov's test. Fortunately, I don't do this often- I think I've only been this drunk/sick a few times in my life. By now I know my own limits, but I guess at the threshold of the limit, there was something last night that made me want to step over it. I guess its the slippery slope where I was too drunk to consider the repercussions of my drinking. I would have thought though that the body would associate drinking a certain amount with being miserably sick and form a kind of psychological barrier. Why weren't my alarm bells going off? Were they, and I just ignored them? Or it is too subtle of an alarm bell to hear when I'm at my limit.
Anyway, I started feeling better around 3, and this day is going to be totally wasted cleaning up myself and the messes I've made.
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