I'm going to blame this incident on the fact that I'd just opened a new bottle of vodka, and it was Absolut, which is much more enjoyable to drink than my usual cheap brands. I poured one drink, just to remember what a really good vodka tastes like, and how smoothly it goes down. Then I remembered I had some Kahlua on hand, so I made a black Russian, which was very tasty, and then I remembered I had some half-and-half and some sparkling water, so I made a sparkling white Russian, and ate a couple of chocolate chip cookies with it. I had been about to make dinner, but the cookies and milk took the edge off my appetite, so I settled down to watch some YouTube videos while enjoying my pleasant buzz, and after a while thought, what the hell, I'll have one more. That was the mistake.
If I stop at three, I'm fine, but a fourth drink in anything less than four hours drowns my judgement, and after that I lose track of what I'm doing. Alcoholics say they can't take the first one. I've found that I can't take the fourth one. If I'd stopped for dinner, I probably could have had a bit more after, without the dire consequences, but I never got around to dinner. After a couple more hours of enjoyable tippling I got that sudden uh oh feeling, and headed to the bathroom to worship Ralph.
(I tried to put the grossest part under an LJ cut, but it doesn't seem to be working, so if you want to avoid it just skip the next paragraph.)
Ralph was having none of it, and neither were my aged knees, even with the bathmat folded under them, so I put a bit of water in the empty cat litter box I use to soak my feet and sat it beside my bed. I tried lying down, but found myself on that carnival ride, and so I sat on the bed holding the litter box in my lap, and eventually a bit of very expensive puke came up, and then a bit more, and a bit more, and at last my stomach quit queasing and I gave Ralph the contents of the box, rinsed it, put a bit more water in it, put it beside the bed and tried lying down again. The carnival ride had gotten less intense, and I soon fell asleep, and knew no more until I woke in the gray light of Friday morning.
Despite the eight hours of sleep, Friday was a very long day. I got very little done, but at least I didn't fall down. After a couple of hours I microwaved a ramen bowl for brunch, which made me feel a little bit better, and then had some cream cheese on crunchy rye toast for a late lunch, and then much to my surprise actually felt like eating dinner around ten o'clock, so I made some angel hair pasta with marinara, olives, and a slice of asiago cheese, plus a small salad and two slices of bread with butter. Naturally, I had a bottle of beer with it. It has all stayed down! But I've now been awake about eighteen hours, and I really need to get some sleep. No, I won't have a nightcap, thanks.
I'm really quite grateful that, at my age, there's a pretty good chance that I'll be dead before I can put myself through this again. But if I don't die, it's probably inevitable that I will do it again. Check back in about two years. Maybe sooner if one of the local stores has a good sale on Stolichnaya.