Sunday, December 23

Sickness Came, Sickness Stayed

I AM NOT sure which I miss most: playing guitar, writing or drinking. Sickness had rid me of all three; it has left me only the worst bit of drinking: the hangover. Every morning I feel in the grips of a severe hangover, without having had the wonders of drink the night before. I am dizzy, aching, heady, I feel as if I will fall over at any moment and everything is an almighty effort. I have not drunk since Monday night and I miss it so very much. ‘This is the longest I’ve gone without drink in god knows how long!’ ‘Yes, it hasn’t gone unnoticed by everyone.’ So the sickness and a lack of drink have made me an unbearable person to live with, so be it. Everything will be made right in the end. Meanwhile I stumble back and forth with shaky legs.
Tonight I could not bear it any longer and poured myself a drink. It is the wine I opened on Monday night – that, no sooner had a glass taken from it, was bottled up again – and it has sweetened in those days since. It stirred up an ache in my belly and groin and I groaned but I keep on drinking it. When I rub my eyes, they hurt too. How much more of this wretched stuff can I swallow? My eyes start to blur. I will drink it. Maybe it’ll help me sleep.
Yet, here I write! A great many things have been broken today. The weather, boredom & being prohibited from leaving the house have broken me. Aches or no, I played guitar, all my favourites and loudly, too, so that the neighbours could hear; so that every effort by my tired fingers & arms could dance down the road. It felt so good. My body said ‘stop’ but my joy drove it on. Much-missed calluses returned to my fingertips.
To write, just to feel these nuisance keys again gives me as much relief but it is of a different colour. I have had nothing to say, true – and still don’t – but if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all; if you have nothing at all to say, type. So, I type. The words are back upon me, in my veins, rocketing through my body, getting cosy with my appendix – another useless hanger-on. How long does it feel since I have written? Hell if I know. It was uncomfortable.
Every night, worn out & unaccomplished, I went to bed at a reasonable time. At my most sick & sober in bed I began to daydream of getting married, raising a family and holidays next to a swimming pool – though even at my most drunken I will occasionally dream of being on holiday next to a swimming pool. I had become a normal person, and was glad. If it wasn’t for the alcohol-less hangover, I would have felt grand every day.
Then I began to dream of having my own girl to look after me, a girl in possession of a robust immune system. She would tuck me and bring me a glass of cherry-flavoured energy drink and she would ask me how I was and I would tell her and we would both smile; I would smile because I had her and she would smile because I was so helpless. Then, like a saint sent from god, she would massage my back and give me the tenderest of blowjobs, as if I were asleep and she didn’t wish to wake me. Then I would come and I would read to her from one of my favourite books and we would turn the lights off and I would wake up next to her. Eventually, during such endless thoughts, my brain shut down and I would wake up for work – a labour I could not forgo on account of having so much to finish before the christmas break. Still, I worked, without a girl, without playing guitar or writing or having a drink.
Yet, yes! the solstice! The solstice has been and the solstice has gone and now the days, with agonisingly trying pace, are lengthening! Summer is returning. The sun, her fingernails painted in the colour of the Amazon rainforest, is making her way past the equator to spend more time with us, to glance us with stronger love, to feed our trees and nurture our window frames. Everything is going to be OK.
Now all the wine is gone and I feel like death but I have conquered the wine throughout writing this. I sit here sweating with cold patches bruising out all over me. I am truly damning myself and deserve no less.

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