Saturday Morning. I lift the top left side of my lip and as it unsticks from the bottom one. I have an overwhelming thirst for Cream Soda or anything that will take away the taste of cigarettes, tequilla and last nights mistakes. Ink blotches run up my left wrist like stamps on a passport telling me all the places I had apparently left my name. My make up is still on and its everywhere, it feels a bit like chalk on my face. The idea of running a shower and getting into it sounds about as appealing as an acupuncure session but I know it has to be done because I smell like a 1 night stand.
The night before I’d somehow thought it’d be a great idea to get reaquainted with an old friend of mine who we”ll call Black Label. In true fashion we never do things in half measures and on this morning I decided that I was to be ending the friendship once again. I also decided that no one should ever order a drink that requires two hands to lift to your mouth. I looked up, make up off and there it was… the real me. No mask, no sympathy.
I took a moment to look at myself in my hungover state… just a few hours ago it had all been fun and games, laughing, dancing. Now I was alone with the remnants of the night before. The tired heels from my new Nine Wests that just HAD to come out and play, the beer soaked half dreadlock at the back of my head, the very empty wallet. I thought to myself, maybe hangovers are a lot like the aftermath of a love affair… leaving the sufferer alone and desperate not to feel just utterly awful.
Mimi had been seeing Sibu for almost a year when she got a call from another woman seeking advice on her ( the other woman) relationship with him.
“You two just seem so close and you know him so well, I thought you could give me some advice on our relationship. We’ve been together for 3 months now and we’re running into a few problems.”
After explaining to the woman on the phone that she in fact was in a relationship with Sibu for a year, that they were not just good friends she calmly pushed the red button on her phone and looked up at Jack and I.
“She reacted as if I was the other woman.”
Jack: “How bout we do a company power lunch”
Carly: “Consisting purely of wine?”
Mimi:”I’ll get my bag.”
There we were, 3 friends getting drunk at 11 in the morning on Company time. Have you ever been drunk in the middle of the day? Its quite something. My heart broke as Mimi sat opposite me, heart wrenched out of her body and splattered on the floor. The first time she had really opened herself to that tricky little bastard we call Love.
Carly: “More Caramel Vodka?”
Jack and Mimi: “Yesh!”
How can this happen? How can things be so great one minute and so very sad the next. One minute you’re dancing on tables and the next your spooning the toilet seat. The next day Mimi had more than just mild nausea and a headache. She was at the start of a very long and incurable Lovalas.
I’ve lived with a boyfriend before I met My Oke and it didn’t work out so well… if that relationship was a night of drinking… it was Cane and Sparlettta on an empty stomach. But after 3 years of dating long distance it was time to get in a cab and brace ourselves for that club we all have to go to at some point “Living Together”. Sooner than I realized I was sharing a home with Playstation, Klippes and Cola, Top Gear, Gross Man Smells and Dirty Dishes. Here we were, finally at the place we’d wanted to be for years and at each others throats. Suddenly those things I’d brushed off in the past were unbrushable. Every little gripe was placed under a microscope and so the madness begun. Screaming matches at 4 in the morning, days I didn’t wanna get out of bed, days I couldn’t stay in bed. Wine…. My sweetly sorrow companion. Always willing to have a pity party with me, no matter what the hour.
It was a month of exhausting emotional binges that went on so long and so close together there was no time for a regmaaker or a greasy breakfast to help heal wounds. And then the noise subsided. People started packing up chairs and hinting we should go home, give things a break, wake up from this drunken craziness. And we did… a little fragile, a little ropey and a little bit better.
Eyes dry but hearts open, limping but taking steps forward. Too tired to look back but just scared enough to look forward.
When my parents got divorced almost 10 years ago, there was a hangover that permeated through our whole house. Miserable, blurry, foggy, messy, peircing and unmoving. Until it cleared, and we were all ok again. And 10 years later, better than ok. Better than before. Really happy and cured of our Lovalas. Because that’s the thing about the aftermath of a disaster…. The only cure there is, is time. And though we always swear we’ll never drink… or love again. Somehow we always do.